


The Secret Passage

by AltheaG



Series: The Nigel Chaucer Chronicles [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Year 7, Hogwarts, Mystery, alternative universe, horcrux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:11:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 78,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AltheaG/pseuds/AltheaG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now Head Boy at Hogwarts, Nigel Chaucer has jumped entirely into the wizarding world. Though he's less than a mile from his home in St. Luke, the adjustments he has to make to this new school, new people and new reality is much harder than Nigel could ever have imagined. Things are even harder with his cousin, Severus Snape and his friend, Draco Malfoy far away, on the run, in total disgrace after the events in June. And then Nigel is sent on an errand to a distant field...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **This prologue is just a quick summary of “The Accidental Wizard.” The big story starts next chapter!**

He looked blithely out the window at the moon, high in the sky, hanging there almost by a gossamer silken thread, unreal to the eye. And yet, as he took in the peaceful snores of his roommates, Nigel Chaucer could only sigh in amazement and wonder, as if the moon were trying to tell him something.

This was his first night away from home since his return from hospital a year ago. Looking back, in fact, Nigel couldn’t believe what he had experienced these last several months. He couldn’t believe he was alive. Struck down by a lorry last year, Nigel nearly died from devastating injuries and severe blood loss—that is, until two very special blood donors changed the entire course of his life. Nigel had grown up in the town of St. Luke as a muggle, never knowing that he lived in the shadows of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For sixteen years, Nigel went to school, saw his mates, obeyed his parents and for the most part, lived a typical muggle life. But after his return from four months in hospital, nothing would ever be the same.

It all started when he, for the first time in his life, saw the grand castle—oddly enough at the time, Nigel’s parents could not see it. Soon enough, Nigel learned of the drastic change in him, that he was…a wizard…just like that, out of nowhere, or so it seemed. And yet, there was the slightest drop of wizard blood in him, well hidden for generations. The ancestors of his much beloved tutor in magic, Severus Snape, were Nigel’s ancestors as well, and it was this realisation that forced the accidental wizard to see his true identity for the first time. After weeks and weeks of lessons, Nigel had developed into a powerful and sensitive wizard, ready for the greatest of challenges.

And now he was Head Boy.

He didn’t know quite how to handle himself, now that he lived full-time at Hogwarts. Nigel desperately wished that his cousin, Severus Snape, were with him, guiding him along the way has he had done so often the last several months. But Snape was in disgrace, accused of the horrible crime of murdering Albus Dumbledore. Nigel had heard all the rumours, endured all the nasty talk at his cousin’s expense, prevented himself from lashing back at his cousin’s detractors, though it took all the energy he had.

Yet he loved his cousin desperately. Severus Snape, in spite of his sharp tongue and harsh temper, had proven himself to be patient, kind, generous and entirely loving toward him. Snape had shown him such a strong regard and respect that Nigel could not help but feel confident in his new powers, no matter what anyone else said.

Nigel worried all summer long about his cousin, fretted over what had happened, agonized over why he did what he supposedly did. Common rumour said that Snape was the one who struck the deadly blow to Professor Dumbledore, and in cowardice and selfishness, fled with his underaged protégé, Draco Malfoy, a close friend of Nigel’s. Nigel could barely make sense of any of it. Sure, Draco had confided in him at one point, told him that he was forced to commit a terrible murder, but Nigel had preferred to think that somehow, Draco would never really do it. Nigel couldn’t bear to think that his own cousin was responsible for such an outrage, though deep down, he knew it was true. All the same, Nigel struggled to understand why, why Snape would kill a man he loved and considered a father-figure. It didn’t make any sense.

He could feel the pressure. Everyone at Hogwarts knew he was close to Snape and to Malfoy. Nigel and Malfoy had been caught in what looked like a compromising situation together, though in reality it was nothing of the kind. Still, Nigel never wished to make his friendship with Malfoy a secret. In spite of Malfoy’s reputation, Nigel had developed an intimate bond with his fellow Slytherin. Nigel initially found Draco hard to get to know—he was secretive and elusive. But in an unguarded moment, Draco had opened up his heart and mind to Nigel, telling him of the terrifying mission he had been given by the Dark Lord.

And now, Draco was gone, in hiding most likely, or perhaps at the Dark Lord’s side. Nigel didn’t know what to think.

But other people did. As far as they were concerned, Draco Malfoy was nothing more than a murderous, conniving bully, worthy only of contempt. Furthermore, anyone who might sympathise with him was equally deserving of scorn. Nigel had already suffered that, at the hands of Gryffindors Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, as well as the majority of the students at Hogwarts.

Until he did it, demonstrated his unique powers. That shut them up. At the start of term feast, under fire from just about everyone in the Great Hall, Nigel had found it necessary not only to defend himself and his fellow Slytherins, but to get everyone to calm down and stop their divisive actions.

It worked, at least for now. Then again, Nigel worried that by the time the sun rose in the sky and everyone had gathered in the Great Hall for breakfast, opinion may have changed and more suspicion placed back on his shoulders. He might be able to control their ability to move, but he couldn’t control what they said in their dormitories. He couldn’t control the flow of gossip and, no matter how much support he received from Head Girl Hermione Granger, he couldn’t control their feelings or their loyalties.

Nigel finally climbed into his bed, Malfoy’s old bed, and shut his eyes. He tried to make himself go to sleep. He tried to calm his rambling thoughts, his restless musings, but it was no good. Nigel missed his own bed. He missed Jimmy and Clive, his best mates. He missed Lucy, his girlfriend. He missed his family, his house, his town, everything in his old life. Nigel remembered a conversation he had with Draco, just a few short months ago. Draco was laughing at him, and derided Nigel for thinking he could go back to a muggle life. Nigel thought bitterly about that, about the truth in Draco’s statement. Nothing would be the same, no matter how much Nigel tried to convince himself otherwise. No more thoughts of muggle university, muggle career aspirations, deep muggle friendships. For a year now, he had lied to his muggle friends about his true self, and he had to invent new lies to explain why he wouldn’t be completing his last year of school with everyone.

He missed them so much.

All Nigel had was himself, and all the knowledge that his cousin had given him. He had a certain respect in the wizarding world, and he somehow had fame. That would have to be enough for now. It would have to get him through.


	2. Nigel's First Day

Sunrise.

Grunt.

Grunt.

Unwelcome shafts of sunlight, assaulting quiet eyes.

That was it. Nigel knew he had to get up, face his first day as a full-time Hogwarts student. His body ached terribly as he climbed out of bed, still feeling the effects of his accident from over a year ago. The chill from the stone walls was a new sensation to him, and he felt it in his body more keenly than ever. Slowly, a little painfully, Nigel stretched out his arms and legs, his back and his neck, just as his physical therapist had instructed him. These morning exercises had become routine for Nigel since his return home from hospital last year. He knew from agonizing experience that if he didn’t do them, he would have a hard time getting through the day.

As excited as Nigel was to be starting at Hogwarts, he was a little afraid, too. The events of the previous night made it clear that Nigel had tremendous challenges before him, not so much as a student but as Head Boy and especially as a Slytherin. Nigel could feel impending disaster, terrible fights in the corridors, hexes flying in all directions, both at and from Slytherins. He wasn’t so sure that he and Hermione could keep the rage at bay, in spite of their dire warnings and threats.

What was also clear to Nigel that morning was that he needed to say something to his fellow Slytherins before they left the common room for breakfast. With Draco absent from Slytherin House, Nigel felt as if the burden of leadership had somewhat fallen on his shoulders, and he was determined to rise to the occasion. Nigel knew all too well the influence his friend had over his housemates, yet that caused him some trepidation—he wanted to create his own reputation, not merely try to live up to someone else’s. The agenda he wanted to set for himself as a student and as Head Boy, therefore, would be entirely different from his friend’s, that was for sure.

The moment Nigel finished his exercises that morning, he quickly summoned all the Slytherin Prefects to gather the rest of their housemates into the common room for a quick meeting. Nigel had no idea what he would say to everyone, but he knew he had to say something.

A pajama-clad, slightly miffed crowd of sleepy Slytherins reluctantly gathered around the sumptuous leather sofas and chairs, staring resentfully at Nigel as he stood before them He ran his fingers roughly through his dark brown hair as his mind searched for the right words to say.

“Thanks everyone,” he started. “I just wanted to get our new term going with a few words to all of you. We all saw last night that there are a lot of people at this school who are set against us, merely because we are Slytherins. I think we can realistically expect to receive a lot of verbal and probably even physical abuse this term. All of us are going to be tempted to strike back, even to strike first. I want to caution you all against that. The most important thing we need right now is unity in our school. We have to think of ourselves as Hogwarts students first, and Slytherins second. Now that may seem pretty radical to you…”

“Damn right it does!” Blaise Zabini shouted.

Nigel held up his hands to quiet the crowd. “I know I’m new here, and yeah, I’m pretty much an outsider, but that doesn’t change my point of view! We have to use our heads right now and do everything we can to help keep the peace around here.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” Zabini said. “You have no idea what it’s like for us!”

“You’re right, Blaise. I don’t. But what I do know is that if we start lashing out at everyone, all we’ll do is make things worse for ourselves and for the school. I am asking you as Prefect, and the rest of you, as well, to refrain from any aggression whatsoever…”

“And if we’re attacked? If some stupid Gryffindork does the bat-bogey hex on us, then what? Do we just cower and beg for mercy? That is something I am NOT prepared to do, whatever you might say!” Zabini said, his voice increasingly angry.

“The best thing to do is to report it directly to me, to a prefect or to a teacher.”

Murmuring.

“So we should become a bunch of finks?” Pansy asked sardonically. “I’d rather stand up to someone than run off to some teacher or to YOU!”

More murmuring in agreement with Pansy. Nigel got flustered. This wasn’t working.

“Look,” Nigel said, trying to rescue the moment, “I’m not trying to get anyone to rat someone out. That’s not the point. The point is…”

“To make us look like weaklings!” Zabini shouted.

Nigel rolled his eyes in frustration. “NO. The point is to help create peace around here. When people get away with bullying, it keeps everyone apart. We can’t afford that as a school right now, not when things are so dangerous in the world outside.”

Nott, Crabbe and Goyle stared disdainfully at Nigel. Nigel looked them in the eye, and through Legimency, knew precisely of their mutinous thoughts. He glared at them.

“Listen, everyone,” Nigel continued, now a little desperate, “let’s at least look out for each other, especially the First and Second Years. Some of us have loved ones involved in the war, on both sides, but let’s try to keep the war out there and away of here. Considering what’s already happened, we don’t need any more politics at Hogwarts. We all have a right to our education in peace and calm, and the moment anyone tries to mess with that for political reasons, we all lose out. So only think of that. Think of yourselves and your own personal goals and ambitions, and don’t allow anyone to get in the way of that.”

Finally, Nigel got a sense that he had struck a chord with his housemates that they could all agree on. Zabini cracked the slightest of smirks.

“Now you’re talking like a Slytherin, Chaucer,” he said approvingly, giving him a friendly thump on the back. Crabbe, Goyle and Nott nodded in agreement. Pansy, however, did not.

After the crowd dispersed and returned to their dorms to get ready for breakfast, Pansy lingered, a dissatisfied look on her pretty face.

“Hey, Nigel,” she asked quietly, so no one could overhear them, “have you heard from him?”

“You mean?”

She nodded, looking hopeful.

“No. Not a word.”

“Do you think he’s OK?”

Nigel shrugged. “I hope he is. I hope they both are.”

She suddenly threw him a kittenish look, and then tromped back to her dorm to finish dressing.

At breakfast that morning, the Great Hall was bustling with activity. All the students were eating a huge meal of kippers, cereal, toast, tomatoes and hot coffee. The heads of houses walked up and down the tables, handing out class schedules to the anxious students. But all activity came to a halt as Nigel entered the room. The memory of his powerful spell over the student body the previous night had been the main topic of conversation, with people expressing a mixture of wonder, awe, love and fear. As Nigel passed by, the others couldn’t help but stare openly at him, something Nigel intensely felt. A few girls gave him flirtatious looks. A few boys glared at him as if they wished to challenge him. Nigel tried to ignore it all. He blithely smiled back at everyone and served himself some toast and cereal.

A little late that morning, Nigel found a place at the Slytherin table, as it happened next to Zabini and Pansy, and tried to make his way through his breakfast. Nigel was barely through three bites of his breakfast when Professor Slughorn, the new head of Slytherin house, waddled over to present him with his schedule.

“Well well well, Mr. Chaucer, m’boy!” Slughorn began jovially. “So good to finally meet you! Many dear friends of mine in the Ministry have told me of your extraordinary powers! And of course, that spectacular spell you did last night impressed me deeply. You must tell me where you learned that one!”

Nigel blushed a little. Pansy sniggered. Zabini rolled his eyes.

“Now then, before I give you your schedule, Chaucer, I would like to invite you to a little party in my rooms this Friday evening. There won’t be too many, just a few of our more well-connected students. Now I won’t take no for an answer!”

Nigel found himself nodding stupidly, mostly just to get rid of Slughorn. If he had to endure a single party, that was OK with him. Pansy could barely keep herself from laughing.

Class with Slughorn was much the same. He gave the seventh years a rather complicated potion, however, to Nigel’s relief, it was one he had already perfected under the tutelage of his cousin, Severus Snape. Nigel could see immediately the difference between the two Potions masters. While Slughorn set his students challenging potions to brew in class, his standards of perfection were far beneath those of Snape’s. Therefore, Nigel proceeded to impress Slughorn so entirely that he nearly declared Nigel a legend in his own time. Nigel tried to deflect the overinflated praise, but Slughorn would not be disabused of his elation.

By the time Nigel got to his second lesson that day, Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Gryffindors, Slughorn’s comments and compliments were already the focus of gossip and rumour among the Seventh-Years. Nigel walked into class, and just as in the Great Hall at breakfast, the chattering students fell completely silent and stared at him.

“Uh, hi,” Nigel said to everyone. He found a seat next to Hermione Granger, which caused even more staring. He had a feeling he had just committed some terrible sin just then, but he decided to stay put. After all, he had to stay true to what he had said to the Slytherins that morning, about creating peace. To move seats would not just insult Hermione, but it would also reinforce a tradition of which Nigel disapproved.

The professor, Remus Lupin, gave them a rather lengthy lecture on the course aims and goals, and set down the high standards he expected of them in their N.E.W.T. year. Then he set them forty-five pages of reading for homework, plus twenty-four inches summarizing the reading. Everyone groaned, including Nigel. But toward the end of class, Lupin turned his attention to something else.

“Now then,” he continued, “one of the things we will also begin to study this term is wandless magic. You will be expected to demonstrate this on a limited level for your N.E.W.T’s. We do have,” Lupin said, looking directly at Nigel, “an expert on wandless magic right in this class. Tell us, Nigel, where did you learn that binding charm you performed last evening?”

Nigel blushed deeply, his ears feeling red hot as all eyes fell on him as they had earlier that morning, with a combination of awe, fear and envy.

“I learned it last year, from Professor Snape.” He paused as he saw flashes of fury on the faces of a few of his classmates. “I learned how to use spells in both contexts, with and without a wand.”

“And what did you about the difference between the two?” Lupin asked, just as curious as the rest of the class.

“Well, of course magic is usually more powerful with a wand, but if you learn to convert the wand movement into mental and internal energy, you can do the same spells with the same amount of power and accuracy.”

“Very good,” Lupin said approvingly. “Five points to Slytherin. Why is wandless magic important in defencive magic?”

As always, the first hand up was Hermione’s. Zabini and Pansy rolled their eyes in disgust.

“Miss Granger?” Lupin said, ignoring the audible grunt from Nott.

“Wandless magic gives you an even greater advantage over your opponent than merely nonverbal magic. Even with nonverbal magic, your opponent can deflect your spell by anticipating your wand movement. But with wandless magic, you trump you opponent entirely.”

“Very good, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor.”

After class, Hermione lingered a bit, wanting to talk to Nigel.

“I think Lupin likes you,” she said. Before he could move out of the room, Hermione placed a hand on his arm. “Nigel, I think it might not be a good idea for you to sit with me in class.”

“Why not? We’re friends, right?”

“Of course we are! But you’re a Slytherin and I’m a Gryffindor…”

Nigel scowled. “You sound like my housemates. I don’t go in for that sort of divisiveness. It doesn’t matter…”

“I know that, but remember, you and I are a lot more liberal-minded about this subject. In the muggle world, we don’t put up with this kind of blatant bigotry, but…”

“That’s no excuse!”

“I know, Nigel.” Hermione patted him on the shoulder. “We both have to think of our house situations. I have to go back to Gryffindor every night, and the last thing I need is to answer a lot of stupid questions.”

Nigel nodded. “I didn’t think of that. OK, I understand. Say, where was Ron today? I thought you’d be sitting with him.”

Hermione frowned. “The idiot was in the back. We had a row this morning. Over something stupid, as usual. We’ll be OK. We always are.”

Nigel felt ready to let the whole issue drop, resolving to sit with either Pansy or Zabini or Nott in future. That couldn’t be too much of a sacrifice, could it? He wondered whether sitting with Hermione in Defence would matter as much as she thought it would. Nigel could only hope that his words to his fellow Slytherins that morning had somehow sunk in.

They hadn’t.

Even the First Years were a little miffed that Nigel, their leader and Head Boy, had sullied himself on the first day of class with a filthy mudblood, just to make a point. Nigel figured out pretty fast that he would have to rebuild the proverbial fortress quickly, to gain their trust and their loyalty.

At lunch in the Great Hall, most of the student body were eating away, chatting, gossiping, studying, reading the Daily Prophet or Witch Weekly, or taking little catnaps. Nigel served himself a roast beef sandwich and crisps and moved over to the Slytherin table, to sit with the other Seventh Years. Pansy, Crabbe and Millicent sat on one side of the table, while Goyle, Zabini and Nott sat on the other. There was plenty of room for Nigel, in spite of how spread apart they all were.

“Hey, man, shove up,” Nigel said to Zabini, trying to set his plate on the table between him and Nott.

“No room, Chaucer,” Zabini replied coolly.

Nigel gave the slightest hint of a glare, narrowing his eyes at him. “There’s plenty of room if you’d only move over.”

“I’m eating! Make Crabbe move over! He’s on thirds!”

Just as Zabini reached for his half-eaten sandwich, Nigel focused his eyes on the plate, and in a flash, it skidded to the left about two feet. Next, Nigel pointed at the glass, wiggled his finger a little so that the glass floated upward and, in little zigzags and circles, landed softly next to the plate. Lots of people craned their necks to watch.

“Very funny, Chaucer,” Zabini, reaching over to grab his plate back. But before he could, Nigel had already pulled out his wand poked it sharply toward Zabini, then toward himself, so that an invisible hand grabbed Zabini by the sleeve and jerked him to the side, creating a space on the bench for Nigel to sit. Everyone watching the spectacle laughed.

“See?” Nigel said casually. “I told you there was room.” He took his place and began to eat his lunch, surveying the rest with a look as Malfoyish as he could manage. Inside, Nigel had a burning feeling that they wouldn’t buy the fake imperiousness, and he tried to feign an air of confidence and hope it passed for something real. But when Pansy winked at him, Nigel did all he could to mask his shock. After all, she had a boyfriend, well, a boyfriend on the run, and Nigel had a girlfriend at home. He felt tempted to use Legilimency on Pansy to see what her thoughts were, but Nigel balked. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.


	3. Return of the Slug Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _By the end of the week, Nigel was entirely exhausted. All he wanted to do was have a relaxing bath in the Prefects’ Bathroom and take a Sherlock Holmes novel to bed. That dream was dashed, however, when Blaise Zabini reminded him of the party at Slughorn’s rooms that night. Nigel had heard with some trepidation that Ginny Weasley would also be attending, as well as Hermione and a few others. As Nigel and Zabini got ready to go, Nigel considered breaking the weeklong tension between them, playing the nice guy and trying to inspire some constructive dialogue. But then he thought, “What would Malfoy do?”_

Everything smelled different. He was sure it was the stone walls everywhere in the castle and the slight dampness that changed the atmosphere, bringing about the place an intense chill that seemed forbidding to Nigel. After all, he was accustomed to the warmth and light of his home, with its soft, flowing curtains and the flowers his mother placed in every room of the house. He was used to the intimacy of family and the ease in conversation about anything at all.

His second morning at Hogwarts, Nigel sat up in bed for a while, aching again from the cold of the Dungeon. He chuckled for a moment, wondering what Clive and Jimmy would say if he told them he slept every night in a dungeon. Even Nigel found it hard to believe—any of it. It still baffled him why Severus and McGonagall wanted him there so desperately, and it was only his sense of loyalty to them that kept Nigel from running out the door and straight home. His back hurt and his hips felt stiff and sore. More exercises.

And more trouble throughout the day. He never actually spied anyone hexing others in the corridors, but he could sense the tension brewing hotter and hotter. Nigel despaired just a little, not entirely sure of how to quell all the trouble in a realistic and permanent way, without resorting to extremes, has he had his first night. He had sworn to punish anyone who violated his mandate, and now Nigel found himself having to enforce his own rule. He missed the ability to sink into the background, and it was very clear from his first moments at Hogwarts that Nigel would be front and centre—Snape had made that clear to him long before, as if he could see into the future or something.

Now that he was front and centre, Nigel had to step up to the challenge and get through the year.

By the end of the week, Nigel was entirely exhausted. All he wanted to do was have a relaxing bath in the Prefects’ Bathroom and take a Sherlock Holmes novel to bed. That dream was dashed, however, when Blaise Zabini reminded him of the party at Slughorn’s rooms that night. Nigel had heard with some trepidation that Ginny Weasley would also be attending, as well as Hermione and a few others. As Nigel and Zabini got ready to go, Nigel considered breaking the weeklong tension between them, playing the nice guy and trying to inspire some constructive dialogue. But then he thought, “What would Malfoy do?”

Nigel knew exactly what his friend would do. With a half smirk, he finished getting ready in resolute silence, then turned to Zabini, who was just putting on a little cologne.

“Ready?” Nigel asked.

Zabini hesitated, and then nodded. As he passed ahead of Nigel, he gave him an approving thump on the shoulder. Nigel took that as a sign of truce. As with Pansy, Nigel was tempted to use Legilimency on Zabini to discover his true thoughts, but again, Nigel restrained himself, wanting instead to trust his new friends and hope they were sincere.

They made their way out of the Dungeon and out toward Slughorn’s rooms for the party, chatting casually along the way about insignificant things, trivialities. Neither boy mentioned anything about Draco Malfoy, nor about Professor Snape, nor even about Hermione Granger. They laughed, joked about, shoved each other playfully, and had a good time together. As they neared Slughorn’s rooms, other invitees arrived, all looking equally mystified and exasperated. Everyone seemed to know they were in for a long evening of very good food and very stilted conversation. Nigel would have loved to tell Jimmy and Clive about Professor Slughorn and his walrus-like moustache and his fat belly, but that was impossible. He could tell Lucy, but it just wasn’t the same.

Ahead of them, coming in their direction was Professor McGonagall, looking stern and pensive. Spying Nigel, she stopped him and Zabini.

“Why don’t you go on to your gathering, Mr. Zabini,” she said curtly. “I need to steal Mr. Chaucer for a few moments.”

With that, Nigel and Zabini high-fived each other and went their separate ways. McGonagall took Nigel just around the corner to a disused classroom, and once they were inside, she locked the door and motioned for Nigel to take a seat near the window.

“Is there something wrong, Professor?” Nigel asked, sitting at a rickety desk. He could see the sun set over St. Luke. He wished.

“No no, not wrong. But important all the same.” She sat down next to him in another desk, clearly uncomfortable on the hard chair. “First, tell me how your first week went.”

Nigel scowled a bit. “It was OK, I guess. Harder than I thought it would be. Not the lessons. Those are fine. I feel really well prepared for those. It’s just all the politics that’s hard.”

“I heard about your little lecture Monday morning.”

“I…”

“And I heard about your little trick at luncheon.”

“Well yeah, but…”

“And that you sat next to Miss Granger.”

“What’s wrong…”

McGonagall reached out and placed a motherly hand on Nigel’s. “You must be careful, Nigel,” she said. “I’ve placed you in a position of authority because I trust you and because I trust Severus’ opinion of you. But don’t overplay your hand.”

“But I…”

“You want to inspire trust and loyalty, not fear and jealousy. The bulk of students here are half terrified of you because, first, your powers are so strong, and second, you are not afraid to use those powers against them.”

“But…”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him. “You know it’s true. I don’t want to see you turn into another Draco Malfoy. One of those was plenty.”

Nigel found that he couldn’t exactly disagree with her on that. “I won’t, Professor. I’m sorry if I came off as an attention-seeker.”

She relaxed just a bit, and then became very serious, looking him in the eye. “There is something else, since you are in a unique position here,” she said in a very low voice. “I realise you are new to this environment and to the wizarding world, and I’m sure you miss your family very much.”

Nigel felt a surge of emotion, which he suppressed, not wanting to express the pain of homesickness he felt. “Yeah, I do,” he said a little too quietly.

“In the next couple of weeks, I will called to go to Hogsmeade on a very important errand, however, it is one which I trust you with, if you would like to volunteer. It is not dangerous, but you must still be very discreet. This is top secret. I should add that you will have ample time beforehand to apparate to St. Luke to…”

“Really?” Nigel said, elated. “I could see my family? My girlfriend?”

“For a short amount of time, yes.”

Nigel jumped out of his seat and threw his arms around Professor McGonagall. “Thank you, Professor! May I send an owl to my parents?”

Wrenching herself out of his embrace, McGonagall straightened her spectacles. “Yes, yes, Chaucer, that will do. Once we know the date, then of course you may send them an owl. Remember, you won’t always have this opportunity of course, but you look like you had a bit of a rough first week. Now off with you to your party. We don’t want to keep Professor Slughorn waiting.”

Nigel nearly floated to Slughorn’s rooms, where the party was just underway. The room was packed with people, including Zabini, Pansy, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Susan Bones, and many others, all mingling and snacking on what looked like roasted pheasant, finger sandwiches, cucumber slices and glasses of mead. Nigel filled himself a glass and took a couple of egg sandwiches as he waved to the Slytherins in the room. He glanced furtively at Ginny, who was very busy talking to some blond boy from Ravenclaw. She looked particularly pretty that night.

“Welcome, Nigel m’boy!” Slughorn crowed loudly as Nigel made his way inside the crowded room. Nigel did a double-take when he caught sight of Ginny Weasley, who turned and smiled widely at him.

“Good evening, Professor,” Nigel said politely, trying to balance the full plate and the even fuller glass. He set everything down on a side table and shook Slughorn’s hand, then casually greeted everyone there.

“Now I’m sure you know everyone here,” Slughorn said.

“Oh yes, sir, absolutely,” Nigel replied.

“Good! Good! Now then, Nigel m’boy, I’m afraid you have some serious explaining to do!”

That caught Nigel off-guard. “I hardly know what you mean, sir.”

“That binding charm you cast at the feast! Spec-tacular! Never seen anything like it since the days of the great Auror, Wallace Douglass. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. Great family, the Douglass clan. Very well connected. And Wallace was just about the finest wizard I had seen in many years! I still hear from his wife from time to time. Always sends me a lovely Christmas card! He could do a binding charm that would leave an entire village struggling to move, which of course he had to do on two occasions in the early days of You-Know-Who’s rise to power. Wallace was the youngest wizard to receive the Order of Merlin First Class.”

“That’s fascinating, sir,” Nigel said.

But then, Slughorn raised an index finger, as if to make a salient point. “Ah yes, he was quite fascinating, Nigel, but I think YOU are FAR more fascinating! Now please, please, do tell us about that charm!”

Nigel opened his mouth to reply, but then McGonagall’s warning resounded in his ears, and he hesitated.

“Yes, Chaucer, do tell us all,” Zabini said sarcastically.

“Yeah, Nigel, we’re dying to know,” Pansy purred.

The pressure was on, and all Nigel could think of was McGonagall’s warning. He had to think fast. How to explain it without sounding like a show-off? How to walk that delicate line? Surely, Snape would know precisely how to handle this sort of situation. He tried to place himself in his cousin’s point of view.

He shrugged diffidently, putting on a mask of cool self-assurance. “I’m sure, Professor, that a great wizard such as yourself could offer a much more detailed and accurate description of the binding charm than I could,” he said. “I’m only a student.”

Slughorn guffawed jovially. “Oh now, tut tut! I will admit that I could perform quite a handy little binding spell in my day…”

“Please, sir, tell us!” Pansy chirruped obsequiously. She threw a sly glance at Nigel, who smirked at her.

And with another chortle and a long sip of mead, Slughorn launched into a lengthy tale of his own uses of binding charms, and of the famous people he knew to whom he had also taught these charms. Nigel stood there taking it all in, but simultaneously sizing up everyone in the room. As they all stood close to hear Slughorn speak, Nigel felt a hand, a female hand, suddenly caress his hip, and then, after a minute, the crest of his backside, just for a moment. He could smell the sweet fragrance of Pansy’s delicate perfume just then, and for a whole minute, he could no longer tell what Slughorn was saying, so perplexed and sidetracked by her touch.

As he looked up, he caught a very disapproving look from Hermione Granger. Her disapproval was reconfirmed through a quick use of Legilimency. In her mind, she called him a womanizing pig. But the next thought disturbed Nigel even more—he saw envy, and he couldn’t understand why. Hermione was in love already, had a steady boyfriend and, he thought, a soulmate, or so he thought. Why would she have any feelings toward him? He didn’t get it.

* * * * *

The second week at Hogwarts passed much like the first, but by now, Nigel was quickly adjusting to his surroundings and to his responsibilities. In spite of whatever jealousy she may have felt a week ago, Hermione Granger was by far the most helpful person he knew at Hogwarts. Perhaps, Nigel thought, it was just a passing fancy. He hoped so. After all, he loved his girlfriend very much, and the thought of betraying her seemed impossible to him. He remained friendly with Hermione, always remembering to find some way of speaking well of Ron, or Lucy or even Harry. He hoped he wasn’t overdoing it again.

Pansy, on the other hand, was becoming a real problem by the end of September. She made no secret about her attraction to Nigel, and in no way tried to hide her determination to have him, as she had done with Draco. If she wasn’t putting her hands on his arms and chest, she was caressing his shoulders or playing with his hair or even trying to sit on his lap, which he never allowed. Nigel felt sure she was doing this not for love but for attention. After all, this is exactly how she behaved around Draco—Nigel wondered if she expected him to reciprocate as Draco had. He saw that Pansy had a knack for finding the Alpha male in the group and taking him for herself, as she had done with Draco. But Nigel was no Draco, and that’s precisely how Nigel liked it. He didn’t want to be used like that for anything.

It wasn’t that Nigel wasn’t attracted to her, because he was. How could he not be? She had become even prettier than he had remembered from the previous year. Her body had developed soft, feminine curves that made most of the boys, Nigel included, take a second and even third look at her. With her beloved gone, Pansy had lost some of the old nastiness that charcterised her previous behaviour, replaced now with a sort of sadness, a loneliness that made Nigel feel somewhat bad for her. He wanted to reach out to her and be a friend to her, though her strong sexual assertiveness toward him made it all the more difficult.

And then something beautiful happened, one blustery October morning. Nigel, Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Pansy and Millie were sitting in the Great Hall eating a casual breakfast before their Friday lessons began. Nigel had already met with Hermione for their usual morning briefing, though he told his Slytherins nothing of it whatsoever. He especially didn’t tell them they met in a small, quiet, private space on the seventh floor. Pansy peeled him an apple while Zabini peppered him with questions concerning an upcoming Charms exam.

“It’s a sharp zed formation, not an s,” Nigel instructed. “And keep the movements tight and small. Let the power surge inside you before you release it through your wand.”

Pansy gave him a quixotic look as she cut the peeled apple into neat little slices. “You’re so smart, Nigel,” she said, trying to feed him a slice of apple. Nigel snatched it out of her hand before she could put the apple between his lips.

Millie snarled at her. “Why don’t you just do him right here, Parkinson?” she snapped.

“Shut up, you stupid bitch!” Pansy shot back, making an obscene gesture at Millie.

“Hey! Ladies! Give it a rest!” Nigel commanded. Both girls obediently fell silent.

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed. Goyle slapped Nigel on the back. As Nigel resumed giving Zabini some more wand movement tips, Professor McGonagall quickly approached him, her face stern and focused. Nigel hoped she had good news for him.

“I need you for a moment, Chaucer,” she said, heading out toward the exit. Nigel jumped up and followed her.

“Have fun, Head Boy!” Pansy shouted after him tartly. Crabbe and Goyle guffawed again.

Out in the corridor, Nigel and McGonagall found an empty spot to talk.

“Just a moment,” Nigel said, before she could speak. “Muffliato!” he said. “Now no one can overhear us.”

She smirked. “Another of Severus’ special spells?”

He nodded.

“Good. Now then, Chaucer, I’ve gotten word that tomorrow is the day for the errand.” She handed him a small rolled up parchment, labeled with the letters TCO and the number 304. “This parchment is a portkey, but only a one way portkey. It is set to take you to its set location precisely at 3:04 tomorrow afternoon, from the basement of Honeydukes.”

“Where am I going?”

“That, I am not quite sure. Wherever it is, I am assured that you’ll be able to apparate back to the gates of the school without incident.”

“What’s TCO?”

“It’s a who, not a what. Other than that, I cannot tell you. The instructions you receive from TCO will be verbal. You may not write them down at all. As an experienced Occlumens, I know you will be able to bury this information in the back of your mind.”

“Absolutely, Professor. You can trust me.”

“One more thing, Chaucer. You must be back in my office no later than 5:00. That gives you plenty of time to get the information and memorize it.”

* * * * *

The weather was cloudy and a bit foreboding that Saturday morning. Nigel could feel the chill in his bones and back muscles, which stiffened up in the cold. He was always at his worst in this sort of weather, always in pain once the weather turned, never quite able to rid himself of the discomfort, still more residue from his accident. Nigel braced himself, warming his thoughts with the promise of a family reunion in a matter of minutes.

He told no one where he was going, or even that was going anywhere at all. By leaving early in the morning, before most people were awake, he could get himself dressed and out the door before anyone detected him. Nigel was especially determined to leave before Pansy awoke. He filled his mind with thoughts of Lucy and of everything he wanted to tell her about his first month at school. He had only sent her three owls because he had been so busy with everything, and it had been nearly a full week since he had sent the last one.

He couldn’t wait to see them all again.


	4. TCO at 3:04

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The meadow stretched far and wide, going on forever, until it collided with the rocky low mountains in the distance on one side, and with the dense grove on the other side. Straight ahead lay a ramshackle hut with a little white smoke puffing out of the rickety chimney. And then, Nigel heard a voice. A male voice._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _“Put your hands up,” the voice ordered. “My wand is pointed at the back of your head.”_

Pop!

Nigel apparated behind McDougal’s, early Saturday morning. He had considered walking to St. Luke, but he was so stiff and aching from sleeping in the Dungeon that Nigel decided apparating would be easier. In a way, it was, but on the other hand, he still hadn’t gotten used to the spinning, compressed feeling as he shot through that narrow portal. In fact, Nigel had to sit down for a moment on an empty crate in the dark alley to get his head together. He rubbed his temples and stretched his sore legs and arms before he stood up again to make the short walk to his house.

Even though he had been gone only a month, it felt more like a year. It was different from when he had been in hospital all those long months ago—in hospital, he was so busy just staying alive that he barely noticed the passage of time. But at school, with home and friends and Lucy so close yet so unreachable, each day seemed to crawl toward its end. Everything looked the same, but sweeter now, tinged with nostalgia. As he walked slowly up the street toward home, he glanced into the windows of the darkened shops, knowing that the populace of this little town would soon awake and come to life. That knowledge excited him somehow, gave him hope that even in the midst of change in his own life, that St. Luke remained the same.

He regretted having to wear his robes out in public, but McGonagall insisted. Nigel very much wanted to take off his traveling cloak and carry it over his arm, but it was too cold outside and he was shivering even with the cloak on. He had sent an owl the day before, so his parents and friends were expecting him. He also sent a special owl to Lucy, inviting her to his home for the day. Thoughts of everyone flooded his mind, and Nigel felt a surge of happiness inside him the closer he got to home.

She was standing in the doorway, arms waving madly as he approached. At the sight of his mum, Nigel broke into a run and threw himself into her arms.

“Nigel! Oh my baby!” she cried, hugging and rocking him. “Oh honey, it’s so good to see you!” She kissed his face and hugged him again.

“Mum! I’m so happy to be home!” Nigel said, unable to control his joyful tears. He felt so safe, so secure just then.

“Let me look at you,” she said, surveying her son with a motherly eye. She smiled approvingly. “It looks like you’re eating well.”

Nigel wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. “Yeah, the food’s great,” he said.

Soon, Mr. Chaucer came bounding down the stairs, pulling Nigel into a warm embrace. “Son, I’m glad you’re home!” he said tenderly. “We miss you, son.”

“I miss you, too, Dad. Every day.”

Mrs. Chaucer prepared a huge breakfast of bacon, eggs, bangers, kippers, potatoes, toast, tomatoes and coffee. Nigel’s eyes goggled at the feast—as good as the food was at Hogwarts, nothing was quite like his mum’s cooking. Sitting in his old spot in the warm, sunlit kitchen, Nigel barely felt as if he had been gone at all. Pretty soon, he had put away three helpings of everything while his mother looked on with satisfaction.

“I see you haven’t lost your appetite,” Mr. Chaucer quipped.

At half past nine that morning, Lucy came over. She looked as beautiful as ever, wearing the little gold and pearl ring Nigel had given her over the summer. Her smile was as bright as new sunshine, her skin so soft to his quivering touch as he gathered her into his arms and held her for a long time. He kissed her, greedily at first, so desperate to taste her lips again, but then more gently, languidly, as if they would never part. Nigel didn’t care at that moment that his parents were watching the whole scene.

“How’s my wizard?” she asked with a laugh.

“Much better now,” he replied, kissing her again.

Soon, Mr. and Mrs. Chaucer left them alone to get reacquainted. Mrs. Chaucer excused herself to run a few errands, while Mr. Chaucer said he had to make some telephone calls. Nigel and Lucy sat in the front parlour by the window, drinking tea and talking quietly, intimately.

She looked at him carefully, studiously. “You look sad,” she said.

“I’m fine,” Nigel lied.

Lucy didn’t look convinced. “What’s wrong, Nigel? Don’t you like it at school?”

Nigel didn’t want to respond. He pondered just how to put it into words. “I like it just fine. It’s just been kind of hard adjusting.”

“Is it the lessons?”

“The lessons are great. Professor Snape really prepared me for everything. I don’t know, Lucy. I just feel like a freak there. It’s all politics there! It’s all about who you sit with and who you don’t sit with, or who you are seen talking to and who you aren’t supposed to talk to...”

Lucy laughed.

“What?” Nigel asked, irritated and more than a little hurt that she seemed to belittle his feelings.

“And that’s supposed to be different from our own school?” she asked. But seeing his pain, she stroked his face and kissed him. “Oh, baby, I know it’s hard getting used to it all. I’m sorry for laughing.”

He hugged her. “I miss you so much,” he said quietly. “I wish you were a witch so you could be with me in that place.”

“I do, too.”

Hand in hand, they took a long walk together down the street and around the corner to the town’s main street, ending up at McDougal’s, where Jimmy, Clive and Nigel’s other friends waited for him. They all hugged, shed a few reluctant tears and spent the late morning catching up on gossip, on who was dating whom at school, on how things were going in classes, and were they nervous about sitting their A-levels in June. Nigel had to improvise on that score, as he was sitting an entirely different set of exams which he was forbidden to discuss even with his best mates. He told them about Zabini and Crabbe and Goyle, and about Hermione and Ron. He did not mention Pansy. That would have been a big mistake. And of course, he didn’t mention spells or charms or any specifics about his classes, which made Nigel feel a bit guilty.

As the day continued, Nigel kept a close eye on his watch—he knew he had to leave St. Luke at 2:00 in order to get to Hogsmeade in plenty of time to disapparate from Honeydukes’ basement. It caused him great pain to have to part from everyone, especially as he was not at liberty to explain why. How could he tell his parents he had to apparate to some potentially dangerous place, meet with some potentially dangerous stranger who would give him potentially dangerous information? What if they refused to let him go? How could he explain that to McGonagall?

“Well,” Nigel said, standing up and picking up his cloak. “I’ve got a meeting with the Head Girl and the Prefects. Burdens of leadership and all.”

“Nice cloak, Chaucer,” Clive jibed. “You in pirate school?”

Nigel laughed. “Nah. Clown college.”

Back at home, Nigel had to made his good-byes to his family and to Lucy. Mrs. Chaucer’s eyes welled up with tears, as did Lucy’s. A few hugs, promises of more notes home and more short visits on rare weekends, and then, when Mr. Chaucer’s antique grandfather clock struck two, Nigel departed, mourning the sudden feeling of emptiness tearing into his as he went back down the street toward McDougal’s and back into the alley. Safely in the shadows once more, Nigel donned his cloak, and with a little pop, disapparated.

* * * * *

Careening like wind through that wild narrow space, bumping, spinning, choking, Nigel landed on his feet in a meadow, thick with purple flowers and tall grasses. The sun was high in the open sky, but the air had a chill to it. Nigel pulled his cloak around him to get warm as he got his bearings. The meadow stretched far and wide, going on forever, until it collided with the rocky low mountains in the distance on one side, and with the dense grove on the other side. Straight ahead lay a ramshackle hut with a little white smoke puffing out of the rickety chimney. And then, Nigel heard a voice. A male voice.

“Put your hands up,” the voice ordered. “My wand is pointed at the back of your head.”

Nigel obeyed. “I’m here on Professor McGonagall’s behalf,” Nigel said. “I have the parchment to prove it.”

“Nigel?” the voice said. Could it be…

Nigel turned slowly, carefully, to see who he was there to meet. “Oh my gosh! Harry!”

The two friends immediately embraced. Nigel looked at a very battered Harry Potter with great concern. Harry must have been in a horrible fight—his face and arms were scratched and bruised, and one eye was swollen and cut. More than everything, Harry looked tired and depleted. His boyish beard had grown in a bit, but it was scraggly and unkempt; his hair had grown out quite a bit, and he had taken to tying behind head in an uncombed ponytail.

“What happened to you?” Nigel asked.

Harry looked about suspiciously. “Did anyone follow you?” he whispered, his eyes a bit wild.

Nigel shook his head.

Harry took him by the arm and led him toward the hut, saying nothing until they got indoors. Nigel couldn’t help noticing Harry’s pronounced limp—he knew how Harry felt, losing control of his body and health like that. He gave Harry a shoulder to lean on as they made the short walk to the house, both their minds bursting with questions unasked and stories untold.

Inside, the hut was mostly bare, except for a table and chairs, a cot, a wood-fueled cooker and a fireplace, where Harry had a cauldron hanging, something white bubbling inside it. The air was stale and dusty. Nigel’s nose itched.

“It’s not exactly the Savoy, but it’s home for now,” Harry said.

“How do you get food?” Nigel looked all about the little house, feeling grateful suddenly for the Dungeon, which seemed like a palace by comparison.

“Mrs. Weasley taught me a few things about that, so I’ve been able to cook for myself. I’m a terrible cook, though.”

“What’s in the cauldron?”

“It’s a pain killer. The stuff’s been saving my life.”

Nigel peered into the cauldron, disapprovingly. “It doesn’t smell quite right. Did you put in the willow yet? It goes in first.”

“I’m not exactly a potions master, either.” Harry rubbed his tired eyes.

“I can fix this, if you want me to.”

Harry sat down with a little grunt at the table. “That would be great. That’s right, you were sort of a Potions prodigy.”

Nigel went to work on fixing Harry’s potion whilst Harry read the message on the parchment Nigel brought.

“So what happened to you, Harry?” Nigel asked as he touched the surface of the potion with the tip of his wand, so that it turned a creamy yellow colour. “How did you get so beat up?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I wish I could tell you the whole story. Listen, mate, did Snape tell you about Horcruxes?”

“Yeah. Something about splitting your soul up, right? Sounds bloody evil, if you ask me.”

Nigel finished the last assiduous stir of the potion, and then he carefully removed the cauldron from the fireplace and set it on the floor under the window to cool. “This has to stand for four hours. Then, once the moon rises, you can start to use it, but be sure to take it with something, like soup or stew or something substantial. Only one tablespoon, though. No more than that or you might get addicted to it.”

“Right,” said Harry. “I’ll take it as soon as I can. Thanks, Nigel, for rescuing my potion for me.”

Nigel sat down at the table across from Harry, eager to hear his story.

“A long time ago,” Harry said, “Voldemort split his soul up into several parts, storing each one in a Horcrux. All but one of them has been found and destroyed, and I’ve been working hard to find the last one. That’s how I got in this condition.”

“Did you find it?” Nigel asked, a little excited.

Harry hesitated a bit. “Well, yes and no. This is where it’s important that you convey this message to Professor McGonagall directly and precisely.”

“She told me to memorize it.”

“Exactly. We can’t risk having the written message getting confiscated by the wrong persons. That would be a disaster.”

“I understand.” 

“No problem. So tell me, what do I need to know? I’m supposed to report this to McGonagall tonight.”

“Perfect.” Harry took a deep breath. “The last Horcrux of Lord Voldemort is in Hogwarts itself.”

Nigel’s eyes opened wide. “Then you’re coming back to find it?”

Harry’s face fell. “I can’t. There are too many Death Eaters all over Hogsmeade and St. Luke. I had an Invisibility Cloak, but in the process of getting information on this last Horcrux, I lost it.”

“What happened? Was it stolen?”

“Mislaid. I’m not exactly in a position to retrieve it just now.” He hesitated, careful not to reveal too much to Nigel, which Nigel sensed right away.

“Because of Death Eaters? Are they the ones who injured you?”

“I’ve been in some fights before, and I’ve been beat up before, but nothing like this. I had broken bones, I was completely cut up.”

“Were you fighting a Death Eater?”

“Three of the biggest, toughest Death Eaters I had ever seen in my life! They had me cornered on a cliff, way north of here, and my wand had fallen over the cliff. The only way out was to go over the cliff, too.”

“Oh my gods! How far did you fall?”

“About twenty feet at first. I caught a tree branch that was sticking out, which is how I broke my ankle. Then I lost my grip on that, and I fell about twenty more feet, landing in some thick shrubs, which is how I cut up my face and arms. One of the Death Eaters set the shrub on fire, so I had to jump, about thirty more feet. I landed on my broken ankle.”

“How horrible!”

“I would have thrown my Cloak over me, but I had left it under a rock back up on top of the cliff. At least I landed near my wand.”

“Why didn’t you do a summoning charm for your cloak?”

“The Death Eaters were right there! There was no way I could!”

“How did you get here?”

“I disapparated once I got hold of my wand, and ended up just where you were. The owner of this little palace is a wizard, and he’s the one who took me in and healed my broken bones.”

“Where is he now?”

“Fishing, I think.”

Nigel looked suspicious. “Are you sure he’s OK? I mean, he’s not some Death Eater in disguise, is he?”

“I don’t think so. I could sort of tell by the way he talked. He seems safe to me. Name’s Austin Something. Harpe, I think.”

“Well I guess as long as you trust him. So what’s this message I’m supposed to deliver?” Nigel conjured up two porcelain cups and some hot tea with his wand. He handed one to Harry, who drank it down quickly.

“Thanks for the tea. Remember, you need to memorize every detail of this message.”

“Got it.”

“The last Horcrux is a golden plaque, one foot square. It was made by an ancestor of Voldemort, a man called Tarquin.”

Nigel laughed. “Like out of mythology?”

“I guess. Anyway, the picture on the plaque is a man and woman, holding hands, sort of like Adam and Eve. They’re naked, and their hair is intertwined. The picture is edged in serpents, and the sides of the plaque are beveled. On the back is a circle. Got it?”

“Yeah. But what happens when it’s found?”

“That’s when things get a little tricky. When it’s found, it’s really important not to touch it, not to move it, and especially not to try and open it. Any attempt to open it might result in serious injury.”

“What about you? Won’t you get injured?”

“Not if I use Parseltongue. No one else can do this, so you’ll have to leave it to me somehow.”

Nigel nodded, pouring another cup of tea from his wand for Harry. “I understand.”

“The big thing will be to figure out how I can get into the school once it’s found.”

Nigel thought for a while. “I don’t know, mate. I guess we’ll just have to come up with something when we get to that point. Maybe some sort of transfiguration. Maybe transfigure you into a book or a bottle of butterbeer or something.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll find something. We’ll have to.” He stirred his tea and downed the rest of it. “You make a good cup of tea, Nigel. Snape really did teach you well, I have to admit.”

“Have you heard anything about him? Do you know where he is?”

Harry scowled. “No. I assume he’s at his lord and master’s side. I wouldn’t lose much sleep over that loss.”

Nigel wanted to shout at Harry, but refrained.

“I just don’t understand it, Harry. I know you hate Severus, but I don’t.”

“I do know about Malfoy, though.”

“Are you kidding?” Nigel said, thrilled to get any news about his friend. “What’s going on? Where is he?”

“With his father. You heard that the Dementors abandoned Azkaban, right?”

“Yeah, I read about it.”

“Lucius Malfoy was able to walk out of Azkaban in broad daylight, with not a single person or Dementor trying to stop him. And sure enough, he went straight back to Voldemort’s side, and reunited with his son.”

Nigel felt sick just then. He had so hoped that Draco would be able to get away from his father’s influence, but now...Draco was doomed. Nigel mourned for him, for the loss of Draco’s future. He and Harry sat in silence for a little while, but then Nigel looked down at his watch, which read 4:15.

“I’d better get going, mate,” he said, standing up. “Can I relay any personal messages to Ron or Hermione or Ginny?”

“Just tell them I’m OK, that I miss them and that I love them.”

Nigel nodded. “I will. You have my word.” He gave Harry an embrace. “Be careful, mate, OK?”

“I will. I’ll just be here until I hear from you or McGonagall about the Horcrux.”

“Do you have any idea where to look for it?”

“No clue. All I know is that it’s somewhere in that castle. It could be on a wall, under a desk, in a drawer, in a closet, anywhere. The entire castle will have to be searched.”

“Can I help?”

“If McGonagall allows you, then of course. I trust you, Nigel.”

“Get that cloak back.”

“I’ll try.”

As Nigel walked back through the meadow, his mind became troubled with the enormity of the task that lay ahead of all of them. It was bad enough that the entire, massive structure would have to be intricately searched for a one foot square picture, but even more troubling was just how to get Harry inside. If they didn’t, or couldn’t, or if Harry got killed in the process, then no one could destroy the Horcrux, and if that happened, then the Dark Lord would be able to rule indefinitely. Slytherin or not, that was the last thing that Nigel wanted. There had to be a way.


	5. Tough Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The little vacation now over, Nigel had to steel himself for everything that lay ahead of him. All the things Harry told him troubled him deeply. Nigel worried about the whereabouts of his cousin, and he still felt grief over Malfoy’s reunion with his father. Nigel knew very well how torn up his friend was over his father. He had listened to Malfoy pour out his heart about the love-hate relationship he had with Lucius, and now, more than anything, Nigel wished he could rescue his friend from this fate that seemed to loom over his blond head._
> 
> _But for now, he had to hurry back to school to make his report. Nigel went as fast as he could out of the shop, down the main street of Hogsmeade, and up the long path toward Hogwarts._

Back to Honeydukes, back to reality, back to responsibility. The little vacation now over, Nigel had to steel himself for everything that lay ahead of him. All the things Harry told him troubled him deeply. Nigel worried about the whereabouts of his cousin, and he still felt grief over Malfoy’s reunion with his father. Nigel knew very well how torn up his friend was over his father. He had listened to Malfoy pour out his heart about the love-hate relationship he had with Lucius, and now, more than anything, Nigel wished he could rescue his friend from this fate that seemed to loom over his blond head.

But for now, he had to hurry back to school to make his report. Nigel went as fast as he could out of the shop, down the main street of Hogsmeade, and up the long path toward Hogwarts. The air was crisp and chilly as he walked, bracing and refreshing. Nigel pulled his cloak securely around his shoulders and moved resolutely ahead. Time was getting short.

At the gates of Hogwarts, Nigel shot up red sparks to alert someone to let him in. In a very long minute or two, Nigel could hear the sound of a dog barking, and just then, he could see the door of Hagrid’s hut open, the giant emerging from it to see who was there. At the sight of Nigel, Hagrid smiled and waved.

“Now wha’ were ya doin’ outta school, laddy?” Hagrid asked jovially.

“Professor McGonagall allowed me to visit my family,” Nigel replied. “Sorry, Hagrid, but I have a really important meeting. Thanks for letting me in!” And with that, Nigel dashed off toward the castle. 

Just as he entered, Nigel saw something terrible—he spied Nott, Crabbe and Goyle in the main entry chatting and joking about. Fortunately for Nigel, they didn’t see him. Nigel skirted around the edges of the small crowd of students hanging out there, and made his way out a side door. He searched frantically for a staircase, now panicking just a little, rebuking himself for not knowing the layout of the castle well enough yet. It had to be somewhere. He went up and down corridors, around corners, hoping desperately not to run into any more Slytherins as he went. Finally, just as he was about to give up, he found it.

4:58, dashing up the stairs, Nigel arrived out of breath at the Headmistress’ office. Breathing heavily, Nigel stood before the stone gargoyles, ready to enter.

“William Wallace,” he panted.

With that, the gargoyles jumped apart, admitting Nigel to the circular stone staircase, leading up to Professor McGonagall’s office. The office had changed somewhat since the death of Professor Dumbledore. Gone were the little whirring silver instruments and other knick-knacks he had accumulated over the years. The portraits of previous headmasters and mistresses still graced the walls, but in a rather orderly, and chronological fashion. At the end of the row, looking as fresh as ever, hung a stunning portrait of Professor Dumbledore, right next to the dusty portrait of Professor Dippet.

The large desk was immaculately arranged, with little stacks of parchments and books in a straight line across its width. A jar of chocolates stood on one end of the desk, and a mug with a tartan design rested on the other end, a cream coloured blotter in the centre. A spray of yellow flowers adorned the side table, peeking out from a crystal vase.

Professor McGonagall emerged from a back room, drying her hands on a tartan designed towel, which she carefully folded up and set down.

“Right on time,” she said. “That’s good. Please, sit.” She motioned for him to sit on the red wing chair by the window, then followed him, bringing with her the jar of chocolates. “How was your trip? You look tired.”

“It was fine. No problems.”

“How’s your family?”

“About the same. They were glad to see me. Thanks for letting me go. I needed that.”

“I know you did. You were looking so overwhelmed, and I was worried about you. I can’t have my Head Boy suffering burnout at the start of the term.”

Nigel smiled guiltily. “I was tempted to drop out, actually.”

“Heavens! That would have been tragic. We need you here, Nigel. Severus was quite right about you.”

Nigel decided to change the subject. Talking about his cousin was too painful, and he had been through enough that day. “Harry’s looking pretty terrible. Well, sort of.”

McGonagall looked grave. “How is he? Is he alright? Is he healthy?”

“He had a narrow escape from some Death Eaters. He’s hiding right now, recovering from his injuries.”

“Are they serious?”

“He’s going to be OK, ma’am. Just a broken ankle and some cuts and bruises. He’s recovering well.” As Nigel related to her the story of Harry’s narrow escape from death and the loss of his Invisibility Cloak, McGonagall’s eyebrows knit closer and closer together.

“Who is this wizard who is taking care of him?”

“Some old guy called Austin Harpe. Harry said he trusted the man. I didn’t meet him.”

“Hmm,” she said suspiciously. “I don’t know that name. I’ll have to look into it. What information did Harry give you?”

Nigel told her all about the Horcrux, which both pleased her but made her concerned, too. Neither of them was thrilled by the prospect of having to search the entire castle, but there was no way around it. One thing they decided to agree upon were the most unlikely places where the Horcrux could be.

“Gryffindor Tower,” they said in unison.

“He wouldn’t be able to get in,” McGonagall said.

“Unless, of course…” Nigel began.

“…Pettigrew.” McGonagall said. “Or the Imperius Curse.”

“But when?”

“Could have happened any time in the last few years. It’s hard to say.”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to search Gryffindor Tower, too.” Nigel ate a chocolate and pondered. “Ron or Hermione could do that for us.”

McGonagall raised her eyebrows in alarm. “Us?”

Nigel blushed. “I offered to help search. Harry said I could with your approval. He trusts me, even though I’m a...”

She smiled. “I trust you, too, Nigel. Of course you can help. But within reason, of course. You have enough to do already.”

But then, Nigel’s expression became serious. “But how do we get Harry in here?”

“I’ll have to think about that. Nigel, you have done a great thing for us by going on this errand, and I am impressed by your willingness to help us out in this terrible situation. I know you’re very unhappy here, so your desire to assist in this fight gives me great confidence in you.”

Nigel looked down, visibly moved by her praise. “I just want to make a difference. Everyone seems to think I’m something special for some reason, so I just want to step up and do my part.”

“You are special, Nigel, and it has nothing to do with your magical abilities. You have a big heart, and that is more important than anything. Don’t forget all those people you met in May. You may need to lean on them and use their unique gifts and connections. In fact, you have my permission to leave the grounds at your own discretion, so that you have free access to these individuals. That will likely become necessary.”

That didn’t sit well with Nigel. “That’s pretty radical. Won’t people wonder?”

“Not if you act discreetly, as you did today.”

“But doesn’t that mean…”

“You will be given even more responsibility, yes, Chaucer.”

Nigel scowled. His head hurt suddenly and all he wanted to do was go to bed for a week. He trudged heavily to the Great Hall a while later for dinner, barely noticing where he was or who he saw. Automatically, he sat at the Slytherin table, between Zabini and Goyle, without saying hello, barely lifting his eyes to acknowledge anyone around him.

All Nigel could think about was how much he wanted to go home. Lucy’s kiss was still on his lips, and he could still feel her in his arms, holding her close. He remembered his mother’s tears, his father’s joy at seeing him, the laughter of Jimmy and Clive at McDougal’s. It was all too much, far too soon, and the weight of responsibility and authority weighed heavily on his shoulders. He could barely taste the food before him, even though it was his favourite meal at Hogwarts—roasted chicken, chips and salad. Nigel ate automatically, robotically almost, just wanting to get through the meal and go to bed.

“Real friendly, Chaucer,” Pansy said, squeezing herself between Zabini and Nigel. She ran her fingertips through his hair, then began eating her dinner.

“Oh, hey, Pansy,” he said. He gave her a lackluster smile.

She reached down and ran a friendly hand up his leg. Nigel grabbed her hand and moved it resolutely into her own lap, then resumed eating his dinner. Undeterred, Pansy winked at him and brushed her elbow against his. Nigel rolled his eyes in derision. This was the last thing he wanted to put up with at that moment.

“So Millie,” he said, “how are you progressing on that balding charm?”

Millie giggled girlishly. “Well, I could always use a little more help from you, Nigel.”

That made Pansy and Zabini burst out laughing.

“What?” Millie said defencively.

“What happened to you and that Sixth Year, uh, what’s his name?” Pansy asked, choking back a laugh.

Millie scowled. “Burl. The prat’s with some Ravenclaw Beater, the cow.”

Nigel have her a little sympathy. “Are you serious? I thought you two were OK.”

Millie rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Bummer,” Goyle said, looking a little hopeful. “Say, Mil, if you wanna see my new gobstones set, I’ll show you later.”

Millie nodded. “Sure. Sounds good to me. You know I’ll kick your arse again.”

Goyle blushed red hot and served himself a fourth helping of shepherd’s pie. Nigel chuckled to himself, that is, until he felt Pansy’s hand on his thigh once again. That was enough. He got up from the table.

“I gotta go. Head Boy stuff. I’ll see you guys later.”

* * * * *

He knew he had to get over this melancholy. It wasn’t like him to be so depressed and sad. Normally, Nigel was upbeat, positive, happy and jovial, but these days, he was becoming a stranger to himself. He began to wonder if his visit home was really a good thing at all. All it seemed to accomplish was to make him long for home and Lucy more keenly than before. He just needed a little peace, some place to let his mind relax. The last place he wanted to go just then was the Slytherin common room—Pansy would be there, likely in her skimpiest lingerie or begging Nigel for a shoulder rub or something. And Zabini would be there, challenging Nigel to wizard chess or something, just to prove himself again.

No, Nigel thought perhaps the library would be the best place, just for an hour or two, to get his spirits back up. But as Nigel walked down the corridor toward the Library, he heard quick footsteps behind him. Female footsteps.

“Damn,” he whispered to himself. Nigel stopped in his tracks and whipped around, now furious. Without thinking, he growled, “Look, I’m not interested!” But then he stopped himself, realising that he was shouting at Hermione Granger, not at Pansy. “Sorry, Hermione,” he said sheepishly. His face felt red hot.

Hermione laughed. “Thought I was Parkinson, didn’t you?”

“She’s a real piece of work. I have never met a girl so aggressive. Isn’t she Malfoy’s girl?”

Hermione glowered at the sound of Malfoy’s name. “You think that matters to a girl like that? You’re the power now. Of course she’s after you.”

Nigel sighed. “That’s what I figured.”

Hermione got closer to Nigel and spoke in a low whisper. “I heard you saw Harry. McGonagall told me. She said he’s injured.”

“He’s OK. He’s a bit cut up, but his energy was good. He’s in good spirits, too. Can we go somewhere private? Prefect’s bathroom?”

Together, Hermione and Nigel walked to the bathroom, pretending to discuss school policy and detentions as they passed by other students. They were careful to put stern looks on their faces and to walk at arm’s length from each other, so no one got the idea that a Gryffindor and a Slytherin could actually be friendly. Internally, Nigel protested the arrangement, furious and disgusted at this forced public antipathy.

In the Prefect’s bathroom, they turned on the spouts of the luxurious bathtub and watched as the tub filled with colourful, sweet-smelling bubbles and warm water.

“Muffliato!” Nigel said, to ensure no one would overhear their conversation.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, they pulled off their shoes and socks, and dunked their feet into the warm, soapy water, leaning back against the wall as they talked about the missing Horcrux and where and how to begin such a search. Suddenly Hermione laughed.

“What?” Nigel asked.

“If Ron walked in here right now, I think he just might hit you.”

Now Nigel laughed. “Why is that so funny? You want to see me get decked by your boyfriend?”

“No. You’ve been through enough these days. How’s your family?”

“They’re good.”

“You hate it here, don’t you?”

Nigel half smiled. “Are you some sort of Legilimens?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. Just a good student of body language. I know you’re miserable.”

“I’ve succeeded in putting my foot in my mouth just about every day since I’ve been here, or I’ve been seen with the wrong people, like you supposedly, or I’ve asked the wrong questions, and now I feel like if I don’t respond to Pansy in some sort of romantic way, that’s going to be wrong, too!”

“I wish I could help you, Nigel. I feel bad for you. I hate seeing you so unhappy. You deserve better.”

“That’s OK. I’m just having trouble getting used to all this. You live all your life in one spot, doing the same thing, making plans for the future, having the same friends and then, just like that it’s all gone, taken away.”

“It’s easier when you’re younger. I was only eleven, so it was more like a new adventure. I remember when I first got my letter, and I started reading all about Hogwarts and its history. The idea of going to school in a castle was like a fairy tale.” She smiled at the fond memory.

“But you still had to adjust, didn’t you?”

“Well yeah, I mean, when I first got here, I didn’t have many friends. In fact, I had no friends.”

“That’s tough.”

“I had gone to school at this very progressive, very liberal private school in London where we worked at our own pace and studied what interested us. Most of us were pretty nerdy types, so coming here was a big shock.”

“At least you had Harry and Ron.”

“True.” She made the water ripple with her feet.

“All I have is Zabini playing power games, and Pansy playing footsie, and Millie complaining about her lost lovers.”

Hermione laughed. “Don’t tell me Millie’s after you now!”

“I have no idea. I just hope Goyle can step up before it’s too late for me! She’s quite a gal.”

“Don’t you still wonder why you were put in Slytherin?”

“Only every day. I really miss you guys in Gryffindor, but I’m not supposed to admit that, or something. I don’t get it.”

Hermione remained pensive for a few minutes, leaning her head briefly on Nigel’s shoulder. She squeezed his arm affectionately. “I don’t know where to begin searching for that plaque. There are so many rooms, so many offices, so many parts of this building that are secret or magically hidden. This could take a long time.”

“Well, I think we should develop a method, a strategy so we’re not going back over old territory. Perhaps we could assign each other rooms or parts of the castle.”

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “I like that idea. We’ll cover a lot more ground that way.”

“Who exactly will be helping in the search?” Nigel wondered.

Hermione shrugged. “I suppose you, me, Ron, McGonagall, maybe Flitwick, maybe Hagrid. He knows this place better than anyone.”

“What about Ron’s brothers? They know a lot about the castle, too, don’t they? I heard they snuck around a bit.”

Hermione laughed. “A bit? How about all the time! I don’t know, though. It’s up to McGonagall.”

“What about some Aurors? Maybe Kingsley or Tonks?”

“I don’t know. I suppose now that Professor Lupin is back, he’ll help in the search. He was a Prefect back when he was a student here, and did a bit of sneaking about with Harry’s father, too.”

* * * * *

As he lay in his bed that night, Nigel looked out at the stars twinkling in the black sky. He could see Orion and the Big Dipper and the North Star. The world felt so big, so impossibly remote to his immediate experience, and he wondered where he fit and what his next step would be. Nigel couldn’t help but feel as if he were under a giant microscope, with everyone watching his every move, his every decision, his slightest word. The pressure of celebrity, fueled by rumour and speculation in the Daily Prophet and in the corridors of Hogwarts threatened to break his already suffering spirits, yet Nigel knew very well that he couldn’t just hide or walk away. People he knew and respected needed him. His cousin counted on him, Nigel felt sure, wherever he was. And Harry’s personal mission rested on Nigel’s ability to help in the search for the Horcrux.

Searching for gold never felt so daunting, so harrowing. He dreaded the prospect of what was in store for him, but at the same time, he knew that he had to set aside his fears and doubts and for the first time in his life, think beyond himself. It felt strange to Nigel, but in a way, it suddenly started to feel good, as if he could really contribute something positive to this environment.


	6. Making Inquiries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Zabini’s sudden unswerving fidelity to Nigel impressed Crabbe and Goyle, who quickly resumed their prior role of protector and muscle, now for Nigel. They began to flank him almost everywhere he went, and when Nigel had to take points from a student for an illegal hex in the corridors, Crabbe and Goyle were there to enforce the law for him. The only down side to his new authority was that it made him even more attractive to Pansy. But Nigel had more pressing issues on his mind._

When Nigel was ten years old, his grandmother, Agatha Chaucer, aged 81, died peacefully in her sleep in Bristol, a scant few of her family at her side. Nigel remembered his grandmother a little, but not too well. She had been quite a spunky lady, dressed always in bright colours and clunky beads, always going somewhere in the world. She ran off to India in the 1960’s, supposedly to find herself. She also found a rather handsome Indian lover and a penchant for all things Buddhist. Agatha lived in an ashram for ten months, calling herself Mother Karishma. But then she and her lover broke up, and she returned to England, once again Agatha Chaucer. In the 1970’s, she climbed Mont Blanc, and came home with new fame and a Swiss lover fifteen years younger than she. Soon after that, she became a strict vegan and gave away all her leather jackets and her fur coats. Nigel used to refer to his grandmother affectionately as the Wife of Bath—her fiery spirit reminded him of a plucky character in another Chaucer’s poetic masterpiece.

After Agatha died, Nigel helplessly watched his father go through a very difficult time—Mr. Chaucer became emotionally distant from the family, and he also began to drink heavily. Apparently, he hadn’t been close to his mother for quite some time, and he used to argue with her over her peripatetic and liberal lifestyle. Her death left him with unresolved anger and unexpressed love, and he fell into a dark depression that threatened to split the family apart. 

Mr. Chaucer had never been a violent man before, but when drunk, a frighteningly vicious side came out in him, which culminated one night in an event so shocking that Mrs. Chaucer had to put her husband out of the house for a full six months. As a little boy, Nigel’s parents had been fairly strict with him, and occasionally spanked him for doing bad things. But they never beat him, and never showed the slightest amount of cruelty toward him, but always treated him with fairness, even though they were quite firm with him. But this time was different.

Nigel wasn’t sure exactly what he did that set his father off—he had tried to put the whole thing out of his memory. He did remember that he sassed his father about being drunk all the time, and it was then that Mr. Chaucer did the unthinkable to his son. It was the only time Nigel could remember that his father had ever resorted to such violence against him, and for days afterward, Nigel refused to come out of his room out of sheer terror and guilt. That was when Mrs. Chaucer put her foot down—she kicked her husband out of the house, and refused to let him come home until he had quit drinking and gotten some counseling.

Mr. Chaucer was equally horrified and mortified by his actions, and cooperated with his wife’s demands. He left the family, went straight to a London rehab centre and did all he could to make amends to Nigel for what he had done to him. After his father’s return from disgrace, he never struck Nigel again. In fact, his father was so entirely recovered from his bout of depression that he was like a new man, and Nigel loved him all the more for getting his life back together.

* * * * *

As he completed his exercises that morning, Nigel thought deeply about his father’s struggle, for the first time seeing himself in him. Nigel remembered bitterly the pain his father had caused him back then, but he also remembered how happy he had felt when he saw that his father was better. That was what Nigel wanted for himself, to be able to reenter his own life and make it through, without resorting to narcissistic self-pity. He didn’t want to resort to those drastic measures his father had taken, and he certainly didn’t want to hurt anyone, especially the people he loved the most.

Nigel decided to be honest about himself, to acknowledge his own weakness and loss of control. If his father had successfully done that, then so could he. Once he could do that, he could start again, just as his father had. He took Draco’s words to heart all those months ago, that he had to stop thinking he could return to muggle life. Nigel decided to stop thinking of his new life in terms of limitations, and instead to look at the opportunities which lay before him. He decided to trust in Snape’s opinion of him and to live up to his potential.

A new energy surged through him as he dressed and made his way to breakfast that morning. For the first time in a long while, Nigel felt strong, and he felt focused. Even the sight of Pansy Parkinson at the Slytherin table at breakfast didn’t take away his good feelings, and in fact, he decided to be friendly toward her. Nigel did, however, make sure to sit opposite of her, not wanting her feeling his leg or petting his hair again.

Zabini crinkled his nose at Nigel as they sat down next to each other. “You’re always late in the morning, Chaucer,” he said jokingly.

“What about you, mate? I think we’re arriving at the same time this morning. Say, want to partner up in Potions today?” He dreaded having to partner again with Pansy. The last time they worked together, she managed to cover his neck with butterfly kisses. Nigel could not allow that to happen again.

Zabini laughed. “Sure! Means I’ll get an O for the day, guaranteed!”

Sure enough, both boys received not just an O for their day’s work in Slughorn’s class, but such high praise that they were both sure that Slughorn practically worshipped Nigel and would do just about anything for him. Nigel made a private decision that he would take complete advantage of this, for the sake of finding the Horcrux and getting Harry into Hogwarts that much sooner. Zabini was just glad to take as much of Slughorn’s praise to himself, regardless of the fact that Nigel had done most of the work and had given most of the instructions, and had fixed the potion when Zabini’s inadequacy threatened to ruin it. Nigel let him take credit, knowing that this would help solidify Zabini’s loyalty to him.

Nigel smiled internally, feeling for the first time that being placed in Slytherin was absolutely the best place for him. He didn’t know exactly why, but he resolved then and there to live up to Malfoy’s example and take over that role of the strong, imposing commander.

Nigel smiled internally again when at lunch that day, Zabini offered to fetch him a glass of pumpkin juice. Nigel let him. He also told him to bring him a second roast beef sandwich. Incredibly, Zabini obeyed. After lunch, Zabini sat with Nigel in Astronomy—Nigel fed Zabini answers to the professor’s questions, so that Zabini looked like a genius, almost as clever as a very visibly frustrated Hermione Granger. At dinner, Zabini served Nigel his entire meal and dessert, and back in the Slytherin common room, he even poured out a glass of mead for Nigel as they sat by the fire. When Nigel wanted Pansy to go away, Zabini saw to it.

Zabini’s sudden unswerving fidelity to Nigel impressed Crabbe and Goyle, who quickly resumed their prior role of protector and muscle, now for Nigel. They began to flank him almost everywhere he went, and when Nigel had to take points from a student for an illegal hex in the corridors, Crabbe and Goyle were there to enforce the law for him. The only down side to his new authority was that it made him even more attractive to Pansy. But Nigel had more pressing issues on his mind.

It became very clear to the student body at Hogwarts that Nigel was not someone to be gainsaid. They didn’t see him as another Draco Malfoy, however. The students could see that Nigel lacked Malfoy’s cruelty and insensitivity, and for that, they appreciated his presence, seeing him as a welcome relief to Slytherin business-as-usual. Whenever Nigel had to enforce some rule or regulation, he tried to do it as his parents had done with him, strictly, firmly, but justly. Nigel felt painfully aware of the temptation to abuse his power, and hard as it sometimes was, he did his best not to give in to that temptation. Draco would have been appalled.

The moment Nigel let go of his depression, he suddenly became a real part of the school, rather than the unwilling hostage he had been. Students treated him with respect, and even a little fear, but most of all, with a sort of awe that Nigel still found unsettling. His extraordinary talents in the classroom quickly became legendary, and many students gossiped that Nigel could teach any of the classes at Hogwarts ten times better than any of the teachers put together. Nigel took all this praise at a sort of professional distance. Instead of lording it over people, he used his reputation to bring people and their loyalties to him. And soon, Nigel began to see a real change in the atmosphere at Hogwarts.

Sure, fights still happened, but they were for different reasons now. Much of the anti-Slytherin prejudice had ebbed away, replaced by something much more normal and manageable. It wasn’t quite the ideal Nigel sought, but it was close enough for now. Nigel understood that he couldn’t stop all fighting, but if the fights were over the usual things kids fight about, he could handle that. Still, he was no less vigilant as he made his daily rounds in the corridors. As he passed, students all said hello, asked him for help, told him jokes, came to him with their problems. Nigel no longer needed to resort to drastic and impressive magic—the students knew his astonishing powers, but they also saw a kindness and strength in him which gave them confidence that, even in troubled times, they would be safe.

* * * * *

Nigel decided to use the weekend before Halloween to test out Professor McGonagall’s permission to leave Hogwarts whenever he felt necessary. Nigel, Ron, Hermione and McGonagall had already begun a cursory search of the castle, but so far, no luck in finding the plaque. On this day, he told no one where he was going, or even that he was going, preferring to keep his solitary mission strictly to himself. Friday afternoon after lessons were finished, he furtively told Hermione that he would not be able to do rounds that day. Hermione was more than a little miffed.

“I’m sorry, Hermione, but it’s impossible,” he explained.

“I have a date tonight with Ron, and I need time to get ready. We already talked about this!”

“I’ll have two prefects do it, OK? Then you can have your date and rounds get done.”

Hermione sighed and scowled. “I get to choose.”

“That sounds fine with me. Listen, I really have to get going. I’ll see you later. Have fun with Ron!”

As he made his way down the path toward Hagrid’s hut, Nigel wondered if he had handled that correctly. But he couldn’t bother with it for now. He had too much to do, places to go, people to see. Nigel quickly poked his head inside Hagrid’s hut to say hi, then crept out the gates unseen. Just as quickly, he disapparated.

Nigel landed in London, in a dark corner of the Leaky Cauldron. He didn’t say anything to Tom, the proprietor, not wanting to answer questions about why he was away from school on a Friday. Instead, Nigel made his way out to Diagon Alley, tipping his hat over his eyes a bit, making his way through the crowd of weekend shoppers, ending up at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. The shop was practically empty, except for a witch clad in orange robes, with three toddlers in tow. Fred and George were exhausted from keeping the kids from getting into the merchandise, as the mother was too distracted by the sight of Pygmy Puffs rolling around in their cage near the window.

Nigel laughed as the ginger-haired twins raced about straightening things, picking things up from the floor—they had finally met their match in these toddlers! Finally, after selling the witch a shield hat and three Pygmy Puffs, the little family left. Nigel stooped down to help the twins pick up the mess.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” George started, not looking at Nigel directly.

“It’s the least I can do,” Nigel joked.

Fred came out from behind the counter, arms open wide. “You prat, George! It’s our brother, Nigel!” He laughed and gave Nigel a warm embrace.

“Looks like you blokes had your hands full here!” Nigel said, shaking hands with a slightly embarrassed George.

“Sorry I didn’t see you, mate,” George said. “Darn kids. That lady came in last week with those little monsters and nearly set the place on fire!”

Fred locked the front door and put up the Closed sign. “Let’s go upstairs. We’ll finish up here later.”

“Don’t you have an assistant?” Nigel asked.

“She took today off to go to Bath. The poor girl needed a bit of a break,” Fred said. Together, they ascended the narrow staircase to the twins’ living quarters above the shop.

Their flat was just about as garish and flashy as the twins’ dragon-hide suits. The walls were covered in red and gold tapestries, while the very ornate furniture was bronze coloured and bright. The place was absolutely littered with test products and the remains of failed experiments. One wall had a hole in it, and a small section of the ceiling looked a little charred.

“Engorgement cloaks,” George said, pointing up. “Didn’t quite work.”

“Passiflora extract will soften the effects,” Nigel offered. “I use it a lot in potions. It really makes a difference.”

He sat on the divan whilst Fred and George scurried about putting together a plate of canapés and tall glasses of mead.

“I’m sure you didn’t come here just for our wonderful hospitality, mate,” Fred said, sitting down next to George on the settee opposite Nigel.

Nigel blushed. “OK, you got me!” he said. “I need a little intel from you. Regarding Hogwarts.”

That piqued the twins’ interest. “What do you want to know, mate?” George asked. “Secret passages? Trap doors?”

“All of the above and more!” Nigel said.

“We heard from mum that you’re searching for something pretty important,” Fred said.

Nigel had no idea what they knew. “What exactly did she say?”

“Not much. A missing item needed by the Order” George said.

Nigel nodded. “Very much needed by the Order. If we don’t get it, we’ll never get rid of the Dark Lord.”

“So what do you want to know?” Fred asked.

“Like you said, secret passages, trap doors, hidden corridors, whatever you can offer. I figure in your travels you must have discovered a lot of Hogwarts’ secrets.”

That made both twins grin mischievously, remembering the good old days.

“Remember that night we spent under the lake?” Fred asked. The memory made George laugh so hard he nearly spit out his mead.

“You shouldn’t have done that to an innocent merman. They took it out on the Giant Squid!” George said. Both twins dissolved in hysterics.

“I’m sorry, Nige,” Fred said, trying to compose himself. “Memories! Oh! There’s a really tricky little passage not too far from the Slytheirn Dungeon.”

“Where does it lead?” Nigel asked.

“Absolutely nowhere. I think it was a sort of practical joke played on any student who tried to sneak out of school. You go and go for what seems like a whole mile, but in reality, you don’t actually move anywhere,” said Fred. “I wasted a whole hour of my time in there, and when I realised the joke was on me, it took me another hour to get out!”

George laughed. “And when you came back, you were covered in sludge!”

“I think I can likely skip that one,” said Nigel, laughing.

“Oh yeah, there’s also a painting on the third floor that you can use,” George said. “We discovered that one our second year, but we never did much with it.”

“What do you do with it?”

“You enter it!” Fred said, eyes wide. “The picture is the Garden of Eden, I think. You poke Adam in the navel, and then you’ll hear Eve giggle and reach out her hand to you.”

“And then you just take her hand and go on in!” George said.

“I thought Adam and Eve didn’t have navels,” Nigel said.

“Well they do in this painting,” Fred said. “OK, so maybe it’s just a naked bloke and his naked wife or something. The point is, it leads to another passage.”

“What was there?” Nigel asked, his mind now racing, remembering Harry’s description of the plaque.

“I don’t actually know,” Fred admitted.

“Yeah, the moment we were about to enter the painting, that bloody awful cat, Mrs. Norris, came by and ruined the whole thing for us!” George said bitterly. “Lost opportunities, ay, Fred?”

Fred nodded morosely. “But we quickly found other diversions.” He grinned. George started laughing again.

“Wait!” George said suddenly. “There’s this one place that might be good for you. It’s not exactly a passage, but it’s more of a secret room.”

“The Room of Requirement?” Nigel asked.

“Better than that one,” Fred replied coolly.

“Much better,” George said proudly. “It’s like a treasure room or something. I don’t know if it’s supposed to be a sort of vault for precious items, but I know that when I went in there the first time, I never saw so much gold in my life.”

“Galleons, bricks, statues, jewels, anything you can imagine made out of gold is there,” Fred said.

“Plaques?” Nigel asked, now very curious.

“Probably,” George said. “There was a nice collection of gold wands, the most incredible, ornate wands I have ever seen in my life!”

“Did you take anything?” Nigel asked.

Fred looked a little offended. “We’re sneaks, but we’re not thieves.”

“We were tempted to sort of borrow a few things, but we never did,” George said. “And when we went back to get in there again, the room had been sealed.”

“I wonder who sealed it,” Nigel mused. “Dumbledore?”

“Likely. Could have been someone else, though,” Fred said. “Flitwick, one of the Governors, even Snape.”

“I guess it’s a bit dangerous to have that much treasure open to the world,” Nigel said.

“Bloody inconvenient, though,” George said. “Imagine the romps we could have had in there! Oh well.” He shrugged.

“How exactly did you find it?” Nigel asked.

“I tripped over a carpet right near the Prefects’ bathroom,” George said. “I think there was a painting of Norwyn of Norfolk just to the left of it. Teeny little wizard, skinny and sort of pathetic looking, holding a yellow rose. Anyway, there’s a gold coloured dot on the floor. Which you poke with your wand. Well, that was what you did before it got sealed up. I don’t know now.”

The hour grew late as the three of them continued to talk, reminisce, and find all sorts of new passageways throughout the ancient castle. By the time Nigel returned to Hogwarts, it was well past two in the morning. He was tempted to spend the night at his parents’ house, but thought he’d better not, so he sent up some reluctant red sparks at the gates of the school. As he stood there, waiting for someone to let him in, Nigel heard a rustling in the bushes nearby. He thought he heard breathing. His heart pounded in his chest, and he wished someone would come to the gates quickly. Another rustle.

“Who’s there?” Nigel called. “Lumos!” His wand took light, and he pointed it in the bushes, searching for the origin of the noise. Another rustle, and then, movement. Something black, large, but human?

“Hey!” Nigel called, stepping forward, ready to go after whatever or whoever was there. “Stupefy!” he shouted, sending a shaft of light in the direction of the figure. It hit the bushes with an explosion, but when Nigel rushed out to see what he had hit, there was nothing and no one. A disappointed but relieved Nigel returned to the gate, where an annoyed Hagrid waited for him.

“Sorry, Hagrid,” Nigel said.

“Wha’s goin on, Nigel?” Hagrid asked.

“I thought I saw someone out there,” Nigel said.

Hagrid nodded. “Death Eaters been lurkin round here these days,” he said.

Nigel blanched. Could he have been followed? Did anyone know of his trip to London? Did someone see him at Diagon Alley and report it to the Death Eaters? Nigel’s mind filled with troubling questions as he trudged back to the castle and got into bed.


	7. Hunting for Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nigel, Ron and Hermione spent the next three nights exploring the intricate passageways and secret places in the castle. Hermione covered the seventh floor, whilst Ron covered the sixth, leaving Nigel with the fifth floor. He searched in every room, under desks, inside drawers, under drawers, inside cabinets and bookcases, behind chairs and paintings, even along the floorboards in every room he went. Nothing but dust, spiders, broken quills and someone’s wand. Nigel kept that, curious as to whose it was and how long it had been there. Hermione and Ron had mostly the same luck as Nigel._

Saturday morning came far too early for Nigel. He awoke around seven, his body plagued with pain and stiffness again. Nigel supposed all the activity of the previous evening brought on this new bout of aches. He tried to do his usual exercises to get rid of the pain, but the rain outside and the dampness inside made it impossible for him to find any relief. With effort, Nigel got up, dressed and made his way to breakfast.

The moment he laid eyes on him in the Great Hall, Zabini cleared a space for Nigel at the Slytherin table whilst Goyle fetched Nigel a plate of eggs and bangers and a glass of pumpkin juice.

“Thanks, guys,” Nigel said gratefully.

“You got in late,” Zabini said.

Nigel nodded. He decided not to explain. After all, Malfoy never explained himself, so why should Nigel?

“Hot date?” Crabbe asked, grinning.

“Maybe,” Nigel replied. He took a long drink of his pumpkin juice and finished his breakfast. No more questions asked, and Nigel offered no more information. He blocked his thoughts with Occlumency, just in case.

Nigel spent his entire weekend catching up on neglected homework and writing a lengthy essay for Lupin’s class. Lupin was the only professor who did not proclaim Nigel a near superhuman genius. He still gave Nigel O’s for all he did in class, of course, and he routinely called on Nigel in class, much to Hermione’s chagrin, but he never resorted to the inflated commendations which characterised Slughorn’s dealings with him. For that reason, Lupin quickly became Nigel’s favourite professor.

Of course, none of the professors could measure up to Severus Snape, as far as Nigel was concerned. He respected McGonagall’s exacting standards and Flitwick’s joyful enthusiasm and Lupin’s personal approach, but it just wasn’t the same. Maybe it was the intimate nature of his year with Snape that made a difference, or that they were blood relatives. But Nigel supposed otherwise. Snape had an inexplicable understanding of magic, something that went deeper than mere technique or appreciation. Snape delved into the very origins of magic, saw an almost spiritual dimension that transcended himself, so that he treated his own powers as if they belonged to someone else, a delicate treasure to be nurtured and cared for.

As Nigel grew in his own powers, he assumed his cousin’s perspective on magic, going past schoolbooks and striving toward a real unity with the powers that surrounded and traveled through his body and soul. Nigel suspected that Lupin shared a similar view of magic, and he wanted to know Lupin better, not just as a student but as something more.

Sunday evening, Nigel met with McGonagall, Lupin, Flitwick, Hermione and Ron to discuss their progress in the search for the Horcrux. Nigel related his conversation with Fred and George to them, which inspired a new round of questions from everyone.

“I know about that treasure room,” McGonagall said. “The Minister of Magic had it sealed by the Gringott’s goblins, using their magic. Only they can unseal it.”

“Which means, Nigel, that you will need to return to London to speak with them,” Lupin said.

Nigel looked dubious.

“Remember, Mr. Chaucer, they were most impressed with you in May,” McGonagall reminded him. “They will listen to you.”

“But will they help? Won’t they need permission from the Minister?”

“I will send him an owl straight away,” McGonagall said. “I don’t think the goblins will give you much trouble.”

“Tomorrow then?”

“I don’t want you to miss lessons,” McGonagall said sternly. “After your last lesson.”

“That’s mine,” Lupin said. “You can miss it if you want.”

“I have to hand you my essay, sir. It’s not finished yet.”

“Give it to me when you return from London.” Lupin laughed. “You already know the grade you’ll get on it anyway. You’re the only one in class who gets Mind-Bending charms.”

Hermione gave a little gasp. Lupin blushed a little, then chuckled.

“No offence, Miss Granger,” he said kindly.

“He has a point, though,” Ron said, elbowing Hermione in the ribs. He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Say, Nigel, why not tutor her?”

Hermione gave an exasperated grunt and smacked Ron on the shoulder. Nigel laughed.

“I think she’s just fine on her own, mate,” Nigel said.

* * * * *

The trip back to London was easier than Nigel had expected, and in spite of the fact that he was having a mature conversation with a creature straight out of a fairy tale book, Nigel returned to Hogwarts filled with confidence that he had succeeded. The only problem was that the goblins couldn’t come to Hogwarts directly. In fact, they did not give Nigel the slightest idea of exactly when they would arrive.

“Typical,” McGonagall said bitterly. She, Nigel and Lupin sat in her office drinking tea and plotting their next move.

“There’s no guarantee that the plaque is even in that room, Minerva,” Lupin reminded her.

“Did Riddle know about it as a schoolboy?” Nigel asked.

“I’m sure he did,” McGonagall said. “I can’t imagine that someone like him wouldn’t know about a room like that.”

Nigel pondered. “You know, even if it’s not there, it might hold clues to where the Horcrux actually is.”

“What do you mean?” Lupin asked.

“I mean, if we suppose this was a room that Riddle frequented, and we take a look at the objects that likely impressed him and that he coveted, that might help us understand his way of thinking, and it might lead us closer to where he hid the plaque as a man.”

Lupin furrowed his brow. “Do you really think he would hide a Horcrux in a place that he knew could potentially be sealed up by goblin magic? It would make it hard even for him to retrieve.”

“Can you place a goblin under the Imperius Curse?” Nigel wondered.

“I think so. You-Know-Who could, I’m certain,” Lupin said thoughtfully. “But I don’t know if he would take a risk like that, not with something like a Horcrux.”

“Still,” McGonagall said, pouring more tea for Lupin, “it might be valuable to look in there. Mr. Chaucer has a point, after all. Do we know where Mr. Potter is right now?”

Lupin shook his head. “The last I heard from Kingsley, he was in the north, retrieving his Invisibility Cloak.”

“I hope he gets it,” Nigel said. “That would be one less problem for us.”

“Exactly. At least he could make his way to the gates of the school,” McGonagall said.

Nigel, Ron and Hermione spent the next three nights exploring the intricate passageways and secret places in the castle. Hermione covered the seventh floor, whilst Ron covered the sixth, leaving Nigel with the fifth floor. He searched in every room, under desks, inside drawers, under drawers, inside cabinets and bookcases, behind chairs and paintings, even along the floorboards in every room he went. Nothing but dust, spiders, broken quills and someone’s wand. Nigel kept that, curious as to whose it was and how long it had been there. Hermione and Ron had mostly the same luck as Nigel.

They retired to the Prefects’ bathroom and filled up the tub again with soap bubbles, dunking their tired feet inside.

“I should do this every morning,” Nigel said. “This is so much better than those exercises I have to do.”

Ron looked at him blankly. “What exercises? Lifting weights?”

“No. Ever since my accident, my body has never been the same, and I always feel like I’m about a hundred years old. Once you break a bone you always feel the cold and damp, and since I broke just about every bone in my body, this castle is just about killing me. The exercises help a lot, but I sometimes have those days where the pain is almost blinding.”

“Can you take something?” Hermione asked. “Can Madame Pomfrey give you something?”

“I’m resisting taking pain-killers. I don’t want to get addicted. I know a couple of really good potions for pain relief, but they are both extremely addictive. I just have to tough it out.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Ron replied. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

“Snape said pain is good for me,” Nigel said.

“Figures,” Hermione said bitterly. She scowled.

“He didn’t mean it like that,” Nigel said, defencively. “He just meant that it builds character. He said it was the key to compassion, that I experienced a lot of pain.”

“I suppose,” Hermione said. “Too bad he didn’t learn from his pain.”

“He’s a lot more compassionate than you think,” Nigel said sharply.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re still defending that murderer.”

“Well, unless you know the full story, then I suggest you reserve your judgement!” Nigel snapped.

“She didn’t mean…” Ron began.

“Just leave him alone, OK?” Nigel sighed. He wiggled his toes in the water. “Sorry, Hermione. I don’t mean to get mad. I guess it’s true, that blood is thicker than water.”

That made Hermione take notice. “You’re related to him?”

“You never told us that before, mate!” Ron said, equally aghast.

“We’re distant cousins, that’s all. Still, family is family.”

“No wonder he liked you so much,” Ron said. “You’re probably the only family he’s got left!”

“I think I am. Look, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread that around. He guards his privacy pretty jealously.”

“Sorry, mate,” Ron said. “I won’t insult him any more. At least not in front of you.”

Nigel laughed and splashed a little water at Ron. Ron splashed back. Hermione quickly swung her legs around and reached for a tower.

“If you boys are going to have a water fight, then I’m going to go finish my homework.” She put her socks and shoes back on and headed toward the door. “Night!”

Once she was gone, Nigel and Ron commenced with a full fledged water fight, resulting in both of them plunging fully clothed into the tub, still wrestling and shoving each other, shouting and laughing hysterically all the while. After a half hour of battle, they tired, and climbed out of the tub, dripping wet. The entire bathroom was a disaster area, with soap suds on the mirrors and even dripping from the ceiling. Nigel and Ron quickly pointed their wands upward and all around, drying off the walls, ceiling and floor before drying themselves off and going off to their respective houses, thoroughly exhausted.

The next morning, Halloween, Nigel woke with a start. The water fight with Ron the night before had done him tremendous good, and for the first time in a while, he didn’t feel nearly as sore as he usually did in the mornings. Still, Nigel stretched out his back, arms and legs, grunting a little as he went.

As he stretched, his eyes fell on the wand he found in his search that week. It was rather grubby, old, dull and plain. Nigel couldn’t tell by looking what its magical core was, and he wondered to whom it belonged and when it was lost. Since he found it in a classroom that had been disused for what seemed like years, Nigel figured the wand had been there for a very long time, and that its owner was now an adult, or even possibly deceased. He picked it up and held it in his fingers, trying to feel its balance and power. So far, he wasn’t too impressed.

Nigel held his own wand tip to it and said, “Priori incantatem!” He waited a moment. Just then, a ghost image of ropes flew out of the wand, wrapping themselves tightly around what looked like a student dressed in Gryffindor robes. Nigel repeated the incantation, “Priori incantatem,” and in another moment, the same Gryffindor student dodged the Avada Kedavra curse.

“Wow,” Nigel breathed. He had no idea who the Gryffindor student was, and he still didn’t know who owned the wand. What was clear was that the owner had qualms about using an Unforgivable on his enemy. Nigel decided to take the wand to McGonagall—he felt a little strange with it around, as if the attempted evil act for which it was used still tinged the wand. He wanted nothing to do with it.

The atmosphere in classes that day was abuzz with excitement. Tonight was the big Halloween feast, and McGonagall promised the students a dance afterward. Dates had been made, special robes planned, secret rendez-vous arranged by lovers and players alike. Nigel felt a little pang of regret—Lucy could not go to the dance with him. After all, how could she when she couldn’t even see Hogwarts? Nigel knew that Pansy would try and make her move on him, leaving him with the task of figuring out how to avoid her or at least to hang out with the other Slytherins so he wouldn’t be alone with her.

But she had trumped him before he even made it to his first lesson. As Nigel walked with Zabini to their Defence class, Pansy cornered them both.

“Take off, Blaise,” she said curtly.

“Look, Pansy,” Nigel said, “we’re in a real hurry to get to class. Can this wait?” He threw Zabini a slightly panicked look. Zabini stayed put, much to Nigel’s relief.

“Come on, Blaise,” she whined. “He’ll catch you up.”

Zabini looked to Nigel for direction. Nigel sighed. “Go on, mate. Save me a seat, yeah?”

Alone with Pansy, Nigel worried. She took him around the corner to a private little area, and laid her hands on his shoulders. She smiled at him seductively and giggled.

“You got a date for tonight?” she asked.

“No. Too many Head Boy duties.” He removed her hands from his shoulders.

Pansy reached forward and ran her hands up his torso. “You must have time for at least one dance, right?”

Again, he removed her hands from his body. “Look, Pansy, I…”

But she stopped his protest with an unexpected kiss. It felt so warm, so intimate, and for a full ten seconds, Nigel allowed himself to be seduced. All too quickly, he came back to his senses, and pulled away from her roughly. He blushed deeply, appalled at what he had just done.

“You’ve got to stop this, Pansy!” he insisted. “I’ve already got a girlfriend!”

She snorted. “A filthy muggle!”

Nigel felt tempted to shout obscenities at her just then, but he restrained himself. “I’m going to forget you said that!” he said sharply, turning to go to class. Before she could respond, he was back around the corner and taking his seat next to Zabini, who looked at him and sniggered.

“She got you, didn’t she?” he whispered in Nigel’s ear.

Nigel scowled. He felt horrible about what he let her do to him, knowing that in some way, he had betrayed Lucy by kissing another girl. Nigel wished he could take it back, but that was impossible. He couldn’t help being a little afraid of Pansy. She knew a lot of dangerous people, and he wondered whether she could make his life miserable. After all, he had spurned her, even after she had given him an arousing, intimate kiss. At least it was one kiss only, not an affair. Nigel could try to feel good that he had put a stop to her advances.

He hoped it was enough.

For a while, it seemed to work. At the dance, Pansy danced mostly with Nott, and a little with a Sixth Year boy, Nero Rosier, who was tall and muscular and had luxurious black, wavy hair. Nigel thought they looked well together, and hoped her attentions would now be channeled toward him. She cavorted raucously with Rosier, and together succeeded in scandalising even the Slytherins with their wild behaviour. Pansy and Rosier petted and snogged and hooted and made a complete spectacle of themselves, leaving Nigel to wonder why. It couldn’t be that she was trying to punish him for spurning her, could it? That would be mad.

Maybe she was just lonely without Draco. Maybe she just needed to decompress a little, to get out of her system all the pent up anxiety and stress he was sure had built up in her. Yes, that must be the reason.

Nigel spent the evening chatting with several girls, most of whom gave him a similar, come-hither look not unlike Pansy’s, though far less aggressive and sexualised. They were flirty, girly, giggly but not entirely offensive. In fact, Nigel rather enjoyed the change and flirted right back, though he had vowed not to be seduced by anyone again. He wanted to be playful, but he also swore to remain true to Lucy, no matter the cost. Nigel watched Hermione dance with Ron, and Lavender dance with Seamus Finnegan. Goyle and Millie were tearing up the dance floor with their outlandish moves, which made Nigel laugh. Crabbe talked a little with a Fifth Year, Blandina Prewett, but spent much of his time just watching, a little downcast.

As the dance ended and the students began to return to their houses, Nigel and Hermione’s duties began. Nigel hoped that everyone would be so tired from the party that they would like nothing more than to collapse in their own beds and slumber until noon the next day. But that was not the case. Lingering lovers had to be rounded up, scolded, and sent to their heads of house. Nigel found three Ravenclaw Fourth Year boys drunk on some smuggled mead—one of them was sicking up his dinner whilst the others made sure he didn’t get his robes dirty. Nigel sent the others back to Ravenclaw, and he escorted the sick boy carefully to the Hospital Wing, telling Madame Pomfrey that the boy had eaten something that disagreed with him at the party.

Finally, late into the night, Nigel said good night to a very tired Hermione and retired to Slytherin house.

He took his time getting ready for bed. Everyone was already fast asleep, and the common room was completely empty. Nigel grabbed a glass of water and sat by the fire in the common room, letting his mind and body unwind after a long and eventful night. After a few minutes, he dozed off, only to be awakened some time later by someone entirely unexpected.

Standing before a bewildered and exhausted Nigel, shaking him by the shoulder, was Draco Malfoy.


	8. An Ethical Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astonished and relieved by Draco's sudden visit, Nigel discovers that his friend holds a secret which could help tremendously in the effort to vanquish Lord Voldemort. But when Malfoy is reluctant to disclose what he knows, Nigel has to consider how hard to push his friend.

“I don’t believe it!” Nigel said. He couldn’t move. He was so entirely shocked to see his old friend standing before him that Nigel sat transfixed by the vision.

Draco pulled Nigel to his feet and gave him a huge embrace. He looked thin, a little pale, but his eyes were bright and full of fire, like always. Draco’s hair had grown out a bit so that it fell into his eyes. He looked stronger than Nigel had expected.

“You’re actually here at Hogwarts!” Draco said. “You made it! I’m relieved. I thought for a while you were going to do something stupid like being a muggle again.”

Nigel shook his head and laughed. “It’s been an adjustment, to say the least.”

Draco grew a little restless. His voice became hushed, secretive. “I bet. Look mate, I need to ask you a big favour.”

“What?”

Draco whispered in Nigel’s ear. “I need Pansy.”

Nigel furrowed his brow. “Why?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t be thick, Chaucer. You know why.”

Nigel let out a laugh. “You mean to tell me you came all this way for a bonk with your bird?”

“Come on, mate! It’s been a long time!”

“She’s asleep now. They’re all asleep.”

Draco frowned. “Well wake her up!”

“I can’t go in the girls’ dorm. You know that!”

“Yeah, but I know you have your ways.” Draco pulled a fine gold band off his finger and handed it to Nigel. “Float this into her room, make it wake her up. She’ll know what it is.”

Nigel folded his arms in protest. “And what do I get in return?”

Draco smirked. “Not what I’m going to give Pansy.”

“Oh gee thanks. Don’t do me any favours.”

“What do you want?” Draco asked.

“I don’t know. I think about it while you and Pansy do your filthy business together.”

“You’re a real fucking romantic, aren’t you, Chaucer?”

Nigel took Draco’s ring and blew on it so that it jumped off his palm and floated quickly into the girls’ dorm. A minute lapsed. Silence. And then, footsteps. A lingerie clad Pansy bounded into the room and threw herself into Draco’s arms.

“Oh baby, I can’t believe it!” she squealed, flinging her legs around Draco’s waist.

They cried and kissed each other wildly. Nigel took this as a cue to give them some privacy. He padded quietly to the boys’ dorm and climbed into bed, but he was unable to fall asleep. Seeing Draco again, and right there in the Slytherin common room thrilled and troubled Nigel. Did he really show up again just to see his girlfriend again? It was possible, but Nigel wanted to think it was more than just that.

A sudden thought assaulted him so forcefully that Nigel determined not to let Draco leave Hogwarts without telling him exactly how he got there in the first place. But time passed, and he wondered just what Draco and Pansy were up to. Nigel felt tempted to sneak out and see what they were doing, but he didn’t want to be a voyeur. He didn’t approve of what he presumed they were doing, but Nigel had decided not to judge.

Nigel stayed in bed, wondering. His eyes grew heavy, and before long, he drifted off to sleep.

“…Chaucer!” A hand touched his arm. “Chaucer!”

Nigel pried his eyes open. A bleary, fuzzy Draco Malfoy stared back at him.

“You awake?” Draco whispered.

Nigel grunted and stretched. “Yeah. I am now.” He climbed out of bed and followed Draco back to the common room. His back was stiff and sore. Nigel sat next to him on the couch by the fireplace, trying to wake up.

“So, did you and Pansy have a good time?”

“Yeah.” Draco sounded unconvincing. He scowled. “No. She busted my balls for being gone so long. I told her I couldn’t help it, but she refused to listen to me. Bitch.”

“But you got what you wanted from her, right?”

Draco scowled. “No. She chewed me out pretty good, and so I wasn’t in the mood any more. Bloody disappointing. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“I’m glad you did,” Nigel said. “I’ve been worried about you, mate. I heard only bits and pieces of what happened in June. What a mess!”

Draco frowned. “No doubt you heard mostly rumour and exaggeration.”

“What exactly happened?” Before Draco began, Nigel said, “Muffliato!”

“Thanks for that,” Draco said. He rubbed his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, readying himself. “It’s so complicated, Nigel. It’s so hard to talk about it.” He sighed. “See, I planned on using this cabinet to sort of stage…well…a sort of invasion…of the school.”

Nigel raised an eyebrow. “Sort of?”

“I fully intended for the Dark Lord to enter the school, as a matter of fact. That’s what I thought he would have wanted, you know, to take over Hogwarts himself. It was supposed to be a full-blown takeover, first Hogwarts, then the Ministry, then Azkaban. Once I killed Dumbledore, the way would be clear for the Dark Lord to do the rest.”

“Why didn’t he kill Dumbledore himself?”

“Don’t be thick, Chaucer. Everyone knows he preferred to keep a safe distance from the old man. Dumbledore knew how to do certain kinds of magic that disturbed the Dark Lord. In the end, he refused to go with us to invade the school.”

Nigel grew troubled. “Sounds convenient for him. Why did you go through with it, Draco? How could you help kill Albus Dumbledore?”

Draco looked deeply offended. “I thought a lot about what you said to me that night we spent by the lake. You said I wasn’t a killer.”

Nigel remembered. His heart grew heavy with new grief for his friend, for everything that happened.

“But Snape had made that Unbreakable Vow with my mum. One of us had to kill Dumbledore, or else both of us would die.”

“You were afraid of sacrifice?”

“Maybe. I’m not noble, Chaucer. I wasn’t raised to be noble. None of us Malfoys are noble.”

“Please tell me you weren’t going to pin this whole thing on Snape.” Nigel felt a surge of anger toward Draco just then.

“It wasn’t that at all! But there was no way I could do the killing myself! I’m not powerful enough! I figured that out pretty quick!”

“You mean your conscience wouldn’t let you?”

Draco blushed. “Maybe. I don’t know. I got in that tower, and it was just me and Dumbledore, entirely alone. He was unarmed. I think it would have been easier if we at least had dueled. So many things ran through my mind while I stood there, not killing him. I thought about my mum, and even about Snape.”

“What do you mean?”

“I started to think that if I didn’t do this thing, and if Snape couldn’t bring himself to do it—he loved the old man like a father, you know.”

Nigel nodded. “I know.”

“And if Snape couldn’t do it, then he’d die, too, and then we’d all be dead and the Dark Lord would get the last laugh. But then Dumbledore offered a new plan. He was going to get us out, get us into hiding.”

“But Snape still would have died if Dumbledore lived.”

Draco looked Nigel in the eye. “Dumbledore didn’t intend to live. Snape wouldn’t tell me anything, he never does, but I think they arranged for him to kill the old man personally.”

Nigel’s heart sank. He imagined himself in that situation, having to kill someone he loved more than life itself, and all he could feel was outrage and terrible sadness. A tear rolled down Nigel’s face, but Draco reached forward and furtively wiped it away.

“Don’t get upset, mate,” he said to Nigel.

“How is he? Snape? Are you in contact with him?”

Draco shook his head. “No, not for a couple of months. Apparently the Dark Lord found out a few things about Snape, and he’s been on the run for a while.”

“Like what?”

Draco shrugged. “I have no idea. The Dark Lord didn’t disclose that to me.”

“So you are at the Dark Lord’s side?”

Draco chuckled. “Well not twenty four-seven, I mean, I do live at Malfoy Manor. But yeah, in a manner of speaking, I guess you could say I’m at his side.”

Nigel frowned. “And you’re OK with that?”

Draco blanched for a moment. “It’s what I have to do right now, Nigel. I can’t offer any other explanation than that.”

“Why haven’t you taken over the Ministry or Azkaban yet?” Nigel asked, his voice huffy.

“Such things take time, Chaucer,” Draco said coolly. “Don’t presume to know what’s going on here. I don’t know all the details either. The Dark Lord keeps his plans close to the vest, so to speak.”

“Can you tell me where you loyalties lie?”

“With myself. With my family.”

“Not to the Dark Lord?”

Draco looked at him with exaggerated imperiousness. “You have my answer.”

“How did you get here?” Nigel asked, now determined to find out Draco’s method of apparating inside Hogwarts. “Did you do that cave thing again?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“How did you do it?”

“Come on, Chaucer, you’re a clever wizard. You’re the cleverest wizard since Dumbledore! I’m sure you can figure it out!”

“Is it something you made up? Did Snape teach you? Did your father?”

Draco laughed at the mention of his father. “As if! I wrote the spell because of my father! When I was thirteen, I had a little crush on this girl who lived near our estate. She was a muggle. When Lucius discovered our little affair, which by the way was totally innocent, he put his foot down. He also kicked the shite out of me.”

“He made you break it off?”

“Worse. He locked me in my rooms and placed charms on it so I couldn’t get out. I spent the better part of three weeks trying to find a way out, and then it suddenly occurred to me. I couldn’t escape from my rooms, but if I could conjure up an entirely discrete location, I could escape from there. It had to be something more than just a piece of furniture, though. It had to be entirely its own space. Thus the cave.”

Nigel chuckled, trying to play innocent. He wasn’t sure he could fool someone like Draco Malfoy, but he reckoned it was worth a try. “I could use a spell like that. What’s the incantation?”

Draco gave him a wry grin. “Nice try, Chaucer, but that little secret remains with me. I won’t even tell the Dark Lord about it.”

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise! Please, Draco, you’ve got to tell me!” He didn’t mean to sound so desperate.

“I certainly do not! You know, Chaucer, there are certain types of information that just shouldn’t be known by anyone. This is that sort of thing.”

“Then why tell me at all?”

“I’m sorry I did!”

Nigel started to feel a little anxious. This was just the sort of spell he needed, and he determined to get it out of his friend. “Look, Draco, this might be used to accomplish something very good and very lasting. You simply must tell me!”

“The end doesn’t justify the means, Chaucer. You know that very well. If I tell you, there’s no place that will be forbidden to you, and if you tell others, then no place will ever be safe or free from intrusion! I’ve done enough evil as it is, and I’m not going to make things worse!”

“So if the fate of the wizarding world rests on this knowledge,” Nigel said angrily, “protecting your little spell is still more important?”

“This isn’t about me or my ego, whatever you think!” Draco spat. “It’s much bigger than that! Can’t you see that? This spell could destroy the wizarding world, not save it! It might get rid of the Dark Lord, but if it brings around tyranny, what good is that? If it prevents individuals from feeling free in the privacy of their own homes, then what good is it to get rid of the Dark Lord? I will NOT tell you, Nigel! I won’t tell anyone! You can do the Cruciatus curse on me, and I still won’t tell you!”

Furious, Draco stood up. Suddenly, his face fell.

“I’m sorry, Nigel, really. You’re asking me to do something that I just can’t do. Not morally, not ethically. And yes, I do care about ethics.”

“Will I see you again?”

“I don’t know. I hope so.” Draco gave Nigel another embrace, and then, with a flick of his wand and a wordless incantation, he walked into the conjured up cave and disapparated.

* * * * *

For the next several days, Nigel battled his conscience, debating whether to tell McGonagall that Draco Malfoy knew how to apparate inside Hogwarts. Everything Draco told him made perfect sense, and Nigel could well understand the ethical dilemma that plagued his friend. Still, Nigel was enticed by the possibility that, knowing the incantation, he could get Harry inside the castle to destroy the last Horcrux.

But how to rid himself of such knowledge? That was what stumped him. Nigel supposed someone could use a memory charm on him to rid himself of the incantation, but then again, Nigel thought, he’d still feel dirty, as if he had compromised his friend’s confidence and concerns for selfish reasons. On the other hand, this knowledge would bring an end to the Dark Lord’s reign of terror. Who was to say it would lead to tyranny or civil rights violations? These were responsible people he worked with, and he couldn’t imagine that any of them had malevolent intentions.

Still, it was hard to know what an otherwise innocent person would do with that kind of knowledge and power. He remembered how his friend, Missy, had changed back at Nigel’s old school. Missy and he had been very good friends growing up, but when Missy became a Prefect at their school, she changed entirely and became something of an ogre. Within two months, she and Nigel had stopped talking altogether. Even after he returned to school after his accident, Missy barely gave him the time of day, citing that she was just too busy now. A little power, Nigel reasoned, could easily go to someone’s head. He fretted.

The temptation to use Draco’s spell in other areas would undoubtedly be pretty strong. Could Nigel withstand such temptations? Did he dare? Saturday night after his Head Boy duties, he retired to the Prefects’ bathroom and took a long, luxurious bath where he could lie back and think. He had taken to doing this every night for a while, and he started to notice the difference he felt in his body. His mornings became far less painful now, which helped to lift his spirits.

But if only he could resolve this ethical problem. Nigel thought about talking it over with Hermione, but balked. He trusted her immensely, but again, he worried that she might not be able to resist the temptation to abuse power should they finally get the information from Draco. Maybe…

…Maybe he could make his own spell. Draco had a point about that. If a thirteen year-old could do it, Nigel thought, surely he could do it, too. Nigel was already pretty good at conjuring spells. In fact, he was at the top of the class in Charms. How hard could it be?

But did he want to do a cave, like Draco, or should he be original? Maybe a meadow or a riverbank? No, that didn’t sound right. Plus, he was afraid that if he conjured a riverbank, the Slytherin common room would get flooded. Lounging in his bath, his mind was filled by one scheme after another, each one more hopeless than the first. Nigel’s eyes grew heavy, and he started nodding off to sleep. He lay his head back for a few seconds, but his subsequent snoring would wake him up again, until he nodded off again.

And then the door to the bathroom flew open, making Nigel jump in horror—he had forgotten to lock it. A pajama clad, stressed out Hermione Granger walked in, towel in hand, barely paying attention to her surroundings, especially to the naked Nigel already in the bath. But then, just as quickly, they looked at each other with equal amounts of dread and embarrassment.

“Oh my gods!” she shrieked. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you were in here!”

Nigel sank down into the water, making sure he was covered by the soap suds in all the right places. They both blushed hotly.

“No, it was my fault, Hermione,” he said. “I didn’t lock the door.”

“I’ll come back,” she said, turning to go.

“No, wait, I’ll get out,” Nigel said. “I’ve been in here long enough.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, it’s fine. Just turn your back for a minute.”

Hermione turned her back, suppressing a giggle, whilst Nigel hoisted himself out of the bath and wrapped a towel around his waist.

“OK, I’m halfway decent now,” he said.

She turned back around to face him, but the sight of the scars on his torso and chest made her gasp. Nigel quickly reached for his bathrobe.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling the robe on and tying the belt. “I keep forgetting how upsetting it is when people see my scars. You should see my back. Looks like a damn roadmap!”

“It must have been a horrible accident.”

“Yeah, it was. I almost died. In fact, I did die a couple of times.”

“Do you still feel pain?”

“Not as much as before. The dampness of this castle is pretty hard on me, but the baths help.”

Her face fell. “I ruined your night, didn’t I?”

Nigel gave her a little hug. “I was just about done. I was turning into a prune! I was falling asleep, too, which is kinda dangerous. If you hadn’t come in here, I might have drowned!” He laughed.

She smiled. Hermione looked up into his face in such a way that Nigel knew it was time for him to get out of that room fast. He didn’t want a repeat of what he had done with Pansy, especially when he was half naked in the middle of the night with a girl in her lingerie. He picked up his towel and moved toward the door.

“See you tomorrow, then,” she said.


	9. Happy Christmas, Nigel!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This had to be the worst Christmas of Nigel's life!

The days and weeks passed slowly, ploddingly, and as the weather grew colder and icier, Nigel started to feel the pang of homesickness again. He rebuked himself for this weakness—he was too busy to put up with his own self-pity one more time. The homework continued to daunt all the Seventh Years as they prepared for their N.E.W.T’s. Sure, the exams weren’t until June, but there was so much to learn that Nigel and the others wondered if they would have enough time to absorb it all.

Since the Halloween Dance, and especially since Draco’s visit, Pansy’s ardour for Nigel had cooled significantly, which made things a little better for him. He wondered, however, whether she had told the other Slytherins of her night with Draco. Nigel hoped not. He worried that Draco was in great danger, no matter what he said about being at the Dark Lord’s side. In fact, Nigel reckoned that this put Draco in even more danger. Even if he weren’t killed by the Dark Lord, he could still be killed or injured by an Auror or even by Harry. Nigel felt sick at the thought that Draco might die.

But from what Nigel could gather, Pansy seemed to have kept the liaison to herself, which suited Nigel very well. As far as he knew, she hadn’t mentioned Draco at all. Through Legilimency, Nigel confirmed that she had indeed kept it a secret. Nigel, too, hadn’t mentioned Draco’s visit to anyone, including Professor McGonagall. As he continued the fruitless search for the Horcrux, however, he began to wonder if perhaps he should say something. Even though he didn’t want to reveal Draco’s secret knowledge, Nigel began to see that the fact that Draco could apparate inside Hogwarts was a serious security issue. By now it was December, just a week before the Christmas holiday.

Professor McGonagall was furious when Nigel told her the news.

“And exactly why did you not tell us right away, Chaucer?” she said severely, her brows so closely knitted together that she looked as if she had a single eyebrow.

“I’m so sorry, Professor, really,” Nigel said sheepishly.

“I’m surprised at you. I made you Head Boy because you are responsible and judicious. I am shocked that you would keep this sort of information from us!”

“How did he get in, Nigel?” Lupin asked. “He’s not an animagus, is he?”

Nigel shook his head, dreading what he had to say next. “He…well, he knows how to apparate inside Hogwarts.”

Both McGonagall and Lupin looked stunned.

“What do you mean he knows how to apparate inside Hogwarts?” McGonagall asked, almost seething.

“That’s impossible,” Lupin said, unable to mask his shock. “No one can do that. The charms and enchantments protecting the castle are far too powerful.”

“He told me how…sort of.” Nigel stopped short of actually telling them he had done it with Draco back in May.

“Sort of?” McGonagall asked.

“He just gave me a general impression, but not the actual incantation.” As Nigel told them Draco’s method, McGonagall and Lupin listened with a mixture of horror, betrayal and concern.

“You don’t know how to make the cave?” Lupin asked.

“I really don’t, sir. It’s not just a regular cave. It can’t be. He must have conjured it so that it occupied an entirely separate space or dimension from Hogwarts. I mean, it must have special charms placed on it. It’s an amazing feat of magic, but I really have no idea how he did it.”

“Did you ask him how?” Lupin asked.

“I begged him, sir! He refused to tell me.”

McGonagall scowled. “Figures.”

“No, Professor, it’s not what you think. Draco told me he wouldn’t reveal it to anyone, including the Dark Lord! He said it would be unethical.”

McGonagall snorted. “Right. A Malfoy concerned with ethics. Pretty soon, You-Know-Who will be concerned with other people’s feelings!”

“I think he was being honest, if you please, Professor,” Nigel said defencively. “I used Legilimency on him the whole time, and I couldn’t detect any duplicity on his part.”

“But could you see his incantation?” Lupin asked.

“He’s become a brilliant Occlumens, sir. No, I couldn’t see it. He said that it was the kind of knowledge no one should have. He seemed to fear that it would bring about tyranny and a total loss of privacy.”

Lupin smiled. “Then maybe there is a glimmer of hope for Mr. Malfoy.”

McGonagall frowned skeptically. “A very faint glimmer.”

Nigel stared at his own hands for a minute, wondering. “The point is, at least to me, do we try and get the incantation out of him? That’s why I haven’t said anything, because I just didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Because he’s your friend,” Lupin pointed out.

“Partly that, but I thought about what he said, too, and I think he’s got a point. Think of the implications of that spell, beyond what is immediately before us. Can we just forget about it after the war is over?”

McGonagall bit her lip. “The unfortunate part about war is that it forces people to do things that otherwise seem morally repugnant.”

“But you don’t violate ethics!” Nigel blurted out.

“What are the chances you can get this incantation out of Malfoy?” Lupin asked.

“Nil, I should think. He swore he’d take it to his grave. I believe him, sir.”

Lupin didn’t look so convinced. “We all know that Malfoy’s all talk. Just look at what happened in June. He created a situation, and then didn’t even go through with it.”

“That’s different!” Nigel snapped. Ignoring the offended looks on Lupin and McGonagall’s faces, Nigel continued. “Professor Dumbledore offered him help! He offered him a way out!”

Lupin smiled gently. “I admire your desire to stand up for your friend, but I think I agree with Professor McGonagall here. I think we should make an effort to get the incantation from him.”

McGonagall pondered for a moment. “There’s someone who just might be able to get it out of him.”

“Who?” Nigel asked.

“Severus.”

The sound of his cousin’s name sent Nigel into a flutter of panic, joy and grief. His heart pounded in his chest. “Where is he? Have you seen him? Is he alright?”

“I know how to contact him,” McGonagall said, “but I don’t know exactly where he is. Kingsley Shaklebolt found him just two weeks ago.”

Nigel suddenly felt a little hurt. “And you didn’t tell me?” he asked.

McGonagall suddenly gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Nigel. I should have. I keep forgetting you two are related.”

Lupin raised his eyebrows in alarm. “You’re related to Severus Snape? I had no idea!”

“We’re distant cousins,” Nigel said. But then, he became angry. “Why didn’t he tell me where he was? Why no owls or even encoded notes?”

“Severus has been in a very precarious situation, Chaucer. Surely you can understand that,” McGonagall said. “After he and Potter parted ways, he disappeared again.”

“Hang on! When was he with Harry?” Nigel asked, even more alarmed.

“Apparently back in September, though I don’t know the details,” she said.

“Did you speak to him?” Nigel asked.

“Naturally, that is impossible, but we’ve exchanged a couple of highly encoded owls. He asked about you,” McGonagall said.

That news made Nigel's heart feel like stone. A tear slithered down his cheek. It seemed astonishing and overwhelming to Nigel that Snape had taken time to ask about him. He felt a closer bond with his cousin than he had when they were together, and more than anything, Nigel longed to see him again. Lupin patted him on the shoulder and handed him a handkerchief.

“I’m sorry,” he said, through heavy emotion. “It’s just that I worry about him all the time. I was so afraid he was dead! Draco told me he hadn’t seen him in a long time, and I didn’t know what to think! Professor, is there any way I can see him?”

McGonagall shook her head vehemently. “That is out of the question, I’m afraid, Chaucer. It would be dangerous for you and potentially lethal for him.”

Nigel sat back in his chair and blew his nose. “Professor, you know there’s no way he can get that spell from Malfoy, right? Draco was most adamant about it.”

“We can at least try.”

* * * * *

The term ended without much fanfare. Most of the students at Hogwarts longed to return home to see their families again, and many were sorely disappointed that they would have to remain at school—their anxious parents believed that Hogwarts was still the safest place for their children, in spite of what happened in June, and many of the students had no choice but to stay. Nigel briefly thought about inviting a few of them to Christmas dinner, but decided that was too risky an idea. After all, how could he possibly explain Nero Rosier to his muggle friends?

At the end of term feast, Nigel sat with his usual Slytherin friends. They talked and laughed and told each other their holiday plans. Goyle and Crabbe would be going home. Crabbe was especially upset about this because his grandparents were coming for a long visit. Nott found that hilarious. Zabini and his beautiful mother would travel to France for the holiday, visiting friends in Paris and in Monaco. They would also do a lot of shopping in Rue de Greymalkin, where Zabini’s mum always purchased the most exquisite French robes.

“Mum’s new husband does business in Monaco,” Zabini explained. “I just want to go to the beach and look at the topless girls!”

“Horndog,” Nigel joked, jabbing him in the ribs. Zabini jabbed back.

“How about you, Pansy?” Nigel asked. “Where are you going?”

Pansy shrugged. “Probably just home. Daddy’s been busy these days, so it probably won’t be too interesting. We might take a side trip to Scotland.”

“You, Chaucer? I guess it’s back with the muggles, right?” Zabini asked with a snigger.

“Yep. Back with my family and friends.”

“And your girlfriend, I suppose?” Pansy asked, a note of jealousy in her voice.

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’m surprised they’re not making you stay here, you being Head Boy and all,” Zabini said. “I heard Granger’s staying the whole first week.”

Nigel shook his head. “Not me. I can’t wait to get away for a while.”

Before Nigel left for home, he made a quick stop at the Gryffindor table to wish everyone a happy Christmas. Ginny hopped up and gave Nigel a little hug, and Ron reached across to shake hands with him.

“Have a good holiday, Nigel,” said Neville Longbottom.

“You, too, mate,” said Nigel.

The next morning, Nigel practically ran all the way home. He hadn’t felt so good physically in a while, in spite of the heavy backpack he wore and the thick layer of snow on the ground. The air was clean and bracing, filling Nigel with a tremendous energy he could barely contain. Of course, he hadn’t had any time to buy anyone Christmas presents, but he figured he’d get a chance to do that once he settled in at home.

Nigel spent his first night in St. Luke at McDougal’s with Jimmy, Clive, Robert, Lucy, and his cousin, Tony, who came with his family to St. Luke to stay with the Chaucers for a couple of days. As his friends overwhelmed him with all sorts of questions about his new school, Nigel had to be careful about revealing the nature of Hogwarts. He referred to Potions as Chemistry, to Defence Against the Dark Arts as Philosophy, Arithmancy as Maths, Transfiguration as Physics. He told them all about Zabini and Crabbe and Goyle and even about Pansy. That didn’t sit with Lucy very well.

“She’s pretty?” Lucy asked a bit icily.

“Yeah, she’s cute. You’re much cuter, though,” Nigel said, giving Lucy a little kiss. Her kiss back was a little distant. Nigel worried.

“Funny name, though,” Tony said.

“When I was in hospital last year,” Nigel said, “I met this girl called Rose, and all her sisters had flower names. There was Daisy, Poppy, Lily and…what was the other?...Jasmine.”

“So what did this Rose girl look like?” Lucy asked.

Nigel laughed. “She was about forty-five and was missing a leg! She used to call me Sonny.”

Clive sniggered. Lucy looked a little less than impressed. Nigel looked into her eyes, and what he saw in her mind made him so angry he could barely hold back his emotions.

“Excuse me,” he said, standing up. “Gotta pee.” He stomped off toward the Gents, a little huffier than he thought he should be. As he washed his hands, Nigel rebuked himself, reminding himself that Lucy hadn’t seen him in a while and that her suspicion might be somewhat justified. On the other hand, she knew why he had gone away, and really, had no reason to be the least bit jealous. To his dismay, her cool demeanour continued the entire evening, no matter what he did.

Walking home with Tony, Nigel kept a meditative silence.

“What was up with Lucy tonight?” Tony asked.

Nigel shrugged. “I wish I knew. Girl drama, I suppose.”

“She thinks you’re fooling around, doesn’t she?”

“I’m not! I swear!”

Tony laughed. “You don’t have to defend yourself around me, Nigel! I believe you.”

Nigel paused. “Tony, have you ever heard of something called The Leaky Cauldron?”

Tony made a face. “Is that a Halloween store?”

“No. It’s a sort of pub. In London.”

Tony shrugged. “Say, Nige, why the sudden decision to go away to school in your last year? That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?”

Nigel balked, unsure how to respond. His family had not shared Nigel’s situation with their relatives. “A family friend first suggested it to me, and I thought it was a crazy idea. But I talked to a few people about this school, and they all insisted that I give it a go.”

“What was the name of it?”

“Hogwarts.”

Tony thought for a moment. “That sounds familiar for some reason. Where is it?”

“Not too far from here, in the North.”

“Hmm. Interesting.”

If things were uncomfortable with Tony that night, they were even worse with Lucy the next. They walked home slowly from the cinema, not talking much. Nigel tried to take her hand, but Lucy kept a little distance from him. He sensed serious disaster. Where was the warmth she had expressed just a few short months ago? What had he done? It wasn’t like Nigel had neglected her. He had sent her as many owls as he could manage. OK, so it wasn’t every single day, but it was often enough. Had he done something terribly wrong, said something offencive to her? Did she feel ignored? Was that it? Nigel decided to face his doubts and ask her the uncomfortable question.

Lucy didn’t answer him right away, which made Nigel worry even more. Suddenly, something occurred to him. Maybe he wasn’t the one who was unfaithful. Maybe…

“Lucy, can I ask you something?”

“OK.”

“I just think…if you’re not still…I don’t know how to put this.” Nigel sighed heavily, struggling to find the right words.

“You want to break up with me, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t! I really love you! But I’m getting this feeling like maybe you’ve sort of moved on.”

“I think you’re wonderful, Nigel. I really do.”

Nigel had a terrible feeling just then. “But?”

“Your life is heading in a very different direction from mine. You’re going to be a prominent figure in the wizarding world, and I won’t be able to have any part in it because I’m a muggle.”

His heart sank. “What are you saying, Lucy?”

“I think we both know that, well, that we’ve grown apart. You have your wizard friends and I have my muggle friends…”

“I have muggle friends, too!” he said angrily. “Lucy, this is insane!”

“You deserve someone who really understands your world, who is in your world all the time.”

“I know so many people at Hogwarts who are half and half! Their parents handle their different worlds just fine!”

“Yes, but I don’t think I can.”

Nigel narrowed his eyes at her. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?” His voice sounded almost dead, knowing ahead of time her response.

Lucy put her arms around him and held him close. Nigel’s heart broke bitterly as he pulled her to himself, hoping that his embrace would change her mind.

“I’m so sorry, Nigel,” she said through tears.

Her sorrow and regret weren’t good enough. Nigel tore himself away from her and ran, not home, not back to McDougal’s, not anywhere in particular. Nigel ran and ran, his eyes flooded with angry tears as he went, not wanting to see anyone, talk to anyone. He ran until he could run no longer, and then he collapsed to his knees and wept, not knowing or caring where he was. His chest heaved dramatically with grief as he knelt there in the snow, sobbing and snotting and practically choking. And then, just like that, he stopped. His head pounded and his entire body felt stiff and sore.

It all felt so unbelievable, so horrible. His darling Lucy, the girl he loved and cherished so dearly, had broken up with him, indicated that she was interested in someone else, though she never said the name of this person. Maybe there wasn’t a specific person. Maybe she didn’t want to ally herself with a wizard. Maybe she didn’t want to have to live a life having to conceal her partner’s identity. Nigel hardly knew how to feel any more. All he wanted was…Hermione.


	10. Special Services to the School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance landing in the Trophy Room. But what is this?

It was the worst Christmas of Nigel’s life.

He had just broken up with his girlfriend a few short days before, and then, the very next day, his cousin, Tony, left town for Glasgow. Nigel felt more alone than ever. The pain he felt wasn’t physical this time. It was an internal pain that couldn’t be treated with healing baths or painkillers. Only time would heal the wound that tore at Nigel’s heart.

Christmas didn’t bring him much relief. He went to services with his parents, saw his friends, chatted briefly with the vicar, and then went straight home. Nigel ate his Christmas dinner without much enjoyment, and he expressed even less enthusiasm about the gifts he received. He felt guilty and disloyal and spoiled, but he couldn’t help himself. The pain of the breakup ate away at him so that he took no pleasure in anything at all.

He had to see Hermione. He couldn’t go another day without her.

On Saturday, Nigel took a walk back to Hogwarts, hoping that Hermione was still there. He merely hoped to talk to a friend, someone who understood him in ways that his muggle friends simply could not. Unfortunately, Hermione wasn’t in the library, and she wasn’t in the Great Hall, which meant that the best place to look was the Gryffindor common room. Problem: no password. The Fat Lady wasn’t much help. She knew who Nigel was, but was unwilling to allow a Slytherin into Gryffindor Tower, regardless of how famous or how powerful he was. Thoroughly discouraged, Nigel trudged down the staircase, fully intending to go back to the Great Hall and grab a snack.

He didn’t intend for the staircase to move.

It deposited him on the third floor, where he wandered aimlessly, paying little attention to his surroundings. Nigel passed the armour gallery, looking at it without much interest. Lots of metal, shields, swords, all sorts of junk. Moving on, he found himself at the threshold of the Trophy Room. Nigel went inside.

It was a beautiful room, grand and high ceilinged, filled with all sorts of items of interest, including plaques listing Quidditch champions, Head Boys and Girls stretching back hundreds of years, awards for special services to the school, all sorts of things. Nigel saw his own name in the long list of Head Boys. Harry and Ron’s names were listed under Special Services to the School, and Harry’s name was also in the list of winning Quidditch teams. He also saw the name of James Potter, and that of Remus Lupin for another commendation, and then…and then…

Nigel’s eyes widened. The trophy was a large, gold cup, simply designed but altogether elegant. It was a little dusty, but glittering all the same. The cup was a special award for bravery in the face of danger, and it was awarded to Tom Riddle, over fifty years ago, in 1943. But Nigel wasn’t so interested in the trophy itself, but rather, in its base, which was a foot square, gold coloured. Could it be? He salivated at the possibility.

“Alohomora,” he said, looking at the lock on the trophy case. With a loud click, the lock opened. Nigel slid the glass door open and reached for the trophy. He sensed an energy about it, a danger even in touching it. Nigel withdrew his hand, shut the door and locked it again, and headed straight for McGonagall’s office.

“William Wallace!” he said. The stone gargoyles jumped apart, admitting him into the office. Nigel tore up the stairs two at a time, bursting with excitement.

“Professor!” he called out as he ran. “Professor! Are you here?”

But the room was empty.

“Dammit!” Nigel swore loudly, stomping his foot. He struggled to catch his breath.

“That is hardly an appropriate word to be using in the Headmistress’ office,” a man’s voice said gently.

Nigel looked all around for the source of the voice, but saw no one.

“Up here, Mr. Chaucer,” the voice said.

Nigel looked up, and to his amazement, saw the portrait of Albus Dumbledore waving at him. Nigel hardly knew what to say. Before he could say anything, the portrait gave him a sympathetic look.

“You’re in a bit of a shock, are you not, Mr. Chaucer?” Dumbledore’s portrait said.

“Yeah,” Nigel said, barely audible.

Dumbledore’s portrait chuckled. “Yes, yes, I understand. But remember, that I am only an impression. I cannot actively participate in your world any longer.”

“But you can, sir,” Nigel said. “I pray to my gran all the time, and she gives me a lot of strength! That’s active participation!”

Dumbledore’s portrait nodded kindly. “You are quite right.”

“Can you tell me where Professor McGonagall is, sir?”

“She’ll be out in a minute. She is, shall we say, doing something hygienic.”

Nigel blushed. A doorknob turned, and from a discreet door emerged a very refreshed Professor McGonagall. Seeing Nigel there, she raised her eyebrows in alarm.

“Mr. Chaucer, what on earth are you doing here? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Professor! I’m great! I think I’ve found it! The Horcrux!”

McGonagall rushed forward and gripped Nigel by the arms. “Are you sure? Where is it?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but I’m pretty sure. Can I show you?”

“You certainly can!”

Together, they rushed out, making a determined way toward the Trophy Room. Nigel pointed out the trophy in question.

“But be careful, Professor. I don’t think it’s a good idea to touch it. Harry said not to touch the Horcrux.”

“I’ll just nudge it a bit so we can take a look,” she said confidently, wrapping the ends of her long sleeves around her hands for protection. But when even she laid her covered hands on it, she was thrown back, screaming in pain. Her hands had turned deep red and were growing at a horrifying rate.

“Professor!” Nigel cried out. He pulled her up and rushed her directly to the Hospital Wing, where Madame Pomfrey took charge of the injured Headmistress. Nigel explained what happened.

“Oh dear oh dear oh dear,” Madame Pomfrey said. “We may need to take her to St. Mungo’s. I’ll get to work on it straight away. You can go, Mr. Chaucer.” With that, she hurried him out of the room.

A reluctant Nigel left the Hospital Wing, promising to return in an hour. He went back to the Trophy Room and looked intently at Riddle’s trophy. After what had just happened, Nigel dared not touch it. But he was determined to see the bottom of the trophy, to find out if the portrait Harry described was really there. He hoped.

Then it occurred to him. It was so simple, really. A simple summoning charm, or perhaps Wingardium Leviosa, just to see. Nigel gave it a try. Nothing. He tried again. Nothing. The trophy was like stone, welded into the cabinet, an immovable thing entirely. Nigel couldn’t believe it.

“What the hell is this thing?” he asked aloud. He tried again, but again, nothing. In sheer frustration, he slammed the cabinet door shut, locked it and returned to the Hospital Wing. Professor McGonagall lounged on a bed by the window, her hands wrapped in thick layers of bandages. She looked a bit pale, but recovered from the shock she received.

She waved at him as best she could. “Did you move it?” she asked, her voice a little weak.

Nigel plopped down in a chair next to her bed and shook his head mournfully. She furrowed her brow.

“Why are you here at school today, Chaucer? Shouldn’t you be at home resting?”

Nigel told her about the breakup. She looked at him sympathetically.

“Poor dear. I expect you’ll be alright in time. You are quite a catch, Mr. Chaucer. You’ll find another girl soon enough.”

“I’m sure I will, Professor,” Nigel said sadly. “It’s just that Lucy was…special. It’s hard to explain. She broke my heart.”

McGonagall reached out to pat his shoulder, but stopped, suddenly remembering her condition. “I know, Chaucer. That’s how love is, I’m afraid.”

“Were you ever in love?”

McGonagall smiled wistfully. “Oh yes, Chaucer. Many times.” But that was all she offered him.

When Nigel returned again to the Great Hall, Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table with Ron, Ginny and Seamus Finnegan, chatting and joking about. Nigel joined them, in spite of the fact that there were six or seven people at the Slytherin table. Ginny smiled brightly.

“You look glum, Nigel,” she said. “You alright?”

“Lucy and I broke up.” He didn’t mean to sound so grave, but Nigel couldn’t help himself.

Ginny put her arms around his neck and gave him a little hug. “You loved her, didn’t you?”

Nigel nodded, hugging her close. Her hair smelled clean, like wildflowers, and he suddenly felt like he could bare his entire self to her and she would understand. A couple of stray tears escaped his weary eyes, but he would not allow himself to break down. He had to keep his strength for the tasks ahead. Nigel drew strength from Ginny’s tender embrace and soon, felt the heavy burden of grief lift from his shoulders.

“Thanks, Ginny,” he said, pulling away from her. “That means a lot.” He rubbed his eyes, pretending they were just irritated.

She kissed him on the cheek. Hermione eyed them carefully.

“Listen, can I borrow you two?” Nigel asked suddenly, pointing at Hermione and Ron. “I need to talk over something.”

“Prefect stuff?” Seamus asked.

“More or less,” Nigel replied. “I’ll see you all later.”

Nigel took Ron and Hermione up to the Trophy Room, where he pointed out Tom Riddle’s trophy to them. Ron gaped at it with amazement.

“Do you really think it’s the Horcrux?” he asked.

“I’m pretty sure,” Nigel said. “The only problem is that I can’t move it and I can’t even touch it.”

“Is it cursed?” Hermione asked.

Nigel told them what happened to Professor McGonagall.

“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed. “So how are we supposed to figure it out?”

“We need Harry,” Hermione said.

“I agree,” Nigel replied. “Back to our old problem. How to get Harry in here? There are Death Eaters prowling all over the place these days! I’m sure I encountered one last term right outside the gates! I didn’t see him…”

“…or her,” Hermione interjected.

“I’m pretty sure it was a bloke. Anyway, the point is, it’s going to be almost impossible to get Harry in here, and unless he gets his Invisibility Cloak back soon, we’re going to have a problem. Listen, you guys. There’s something I need to tell you. Muffliato!”

Ron gave him a quizzical look. Hermione scowled at him.

“No one will overhear us,” she snipped at Ron. Ron shrugged.

“Anyway, I found out that there is a way of apparating inside Hogwarts.”

“You’re joking,” Hermione said.

“No, I’m not. I’ve seen it done. I’ve done it, well, sort of. Side-by-side apparation.”

“With whom?” Ron asked.

“Draco Malfoy.”

The sound of his name made both Ron and Hermione gasp in shock.

“You’re joking, right, Nigel?” Ron asked.

“No, not at all. He has a method for doing it, something he developed a few years ago.”

Hermione looked amazed. “A few years ago? How many years ago?”

“Four.”

“I’m really impressed,” she said. “I had no idea Malfoy was so talented, I mean, that has to be incredibly advanced magic.”

Ron shrugged. “He did a conjuring spell in his second year. Remember? Serpentsortia? That was pretty bloody advanced for a twelve year-old.”

“True,” Hermione admitted. “But how did he do this? How did he apparate inside Hogwarts?”

“I wish I knew,” Nigel said. “He gave me a general idea, but that’s it. So there’s a problem.”

“What?” Ron asked.

“He won’t tell me the incantation. I know the wand movement, but he refuses to tell me anything more.”

“Why?” Hermione asked. “Why would he even show you in the first place if he didn’t want you to know how to do it? That’s ridiculous.!”

“When we did it in May, he was in pretty desperate shape. He wasn’t thinking straight at all. I doubt he thought I might ask him for the incantation back then. I was too new, too ignorant.”

“Maybe we can force it out of him,” Ron said. “I wouldn’t mind doing a little Cruciatus on his arse.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron!” Nigel snapped. “Draco’s had enough of that. Look, I’m not sure how to handle this problem, and I don’t think begging Draco is going to do us any good. He might enjoy having people grovel before him, but I know very well that he won’t give in, no matter what we say or do or promise.”

“Then we have to find our own incantation, I suppose,” Hermione said. “Have you tried anything?”

Nigel nodded. “I’ve considered every scheme possible, but nothing that would be realistic. I can conjure a cave just fine, but I don’t know which charms to place on it so that I could disapparate from it. Is anyone else at Hogwarts a Parselmouth?”

“No,” said Ron. “Harry’s it.”

“Shit,” Nigel sighed.

“Look, I’m here for another day,” Hermione said. “I’ll look through the Library for something. Maybe Madame Pince will let me in the Restricted Section.”

“I can help you,” Ron said.

“Maybe I can make a trip to London,” Nigel offered. “I met a few people back in May, and maybe one of them could provide me with an answer.”

* * * * *

As Nigel made his way back to the Hospital Wing to visit Professor McGonagall one more time before he went home, he stopped short at a painting by the stairs. Looking at it carefully, Nigel suddenly realised what it was—it was the Garden of Eden, just like the one Fred and George described. He remembered what they had said, that he had to poke Eve in the navel to enter it. Nigel pulled out his wand.

“Hey, Chaucer!” a voice called.

Nigel turned around, only to see a very small Hufflepuff First Year approaching him with a concerned look on his freckled face.

“Oh, hello, Cieran,” Nigel said. “What’s up?”

Cieran’s face fell. “Oh nothing.”

Nigel smiled at him sympathetically. “Come on, now, what is it?” He placed a hand on Cieran’s shoulder and gave him a little pat.

“It’s just that…there’s this boy who keeps pushing me in line during luncheon.” Cieran blushed. “But he’s…a…he’s a Slytherin.”

Nigel frowned. “What is this boy’s name? I’ll make sure he stops pushing you.”

“Evan Chamberlain.”

Nigel nodded his head. “Right. I shall speak to him at the start of term.”

“But he’ll know I told on him.”

“I won’t mention your name at all, OK?”

Cieran broke into a huge grin. “Thanks!” And just like that, he scampered off. Nigel looked at his watch. It was getting late, almost 6:00. His parents would be waiting for him. The picture would have to wait for now.

When he returned to the Hospital Wing to say good bye to Professor McGonagall, Nigel found the Headmistress not only sitting up on her bed, but smiling and chatting with an older man whom Nigel didn’t recognise. The man was grey-haired, red faced, gruff and a little fierce looking. He was holding Professor McGonagall’s unbandaged hands, which looked healthy and back to normal. At the sight of Nigel, they stopped talking and waved him over.

“Mr. Chaucer, come here,” McGonagall said curtly. “I want you to meet someone.”

The man stood up and shook Nigel’s hand. “My name is Austin Harpe.”

“Oh yes!” Nigel said, surprised at the name. “You’re the one who helped Harry, right?”

“Quite right,” he said, sitting back down.

“How is Harry?” Nigel asked.

“I’ve been out of touch with him for some weeks now. The last time I saw him he was going North. Retrieving a cloak, I surmised.”

Nigel looked at McGonagall’s hands. “I see you’ve recovered, Professor! Madame Pomfrey works wonders, doesn’t she?”

McGonagall smiled. “She didn’t do this, actually. Mr. Harpe did.”

“Really?” Nigel looked at him, somewhat astonished.

Harpe gave a slight nod of the head, looking Nigel in the eye. Nigel was too distracted to look back.

“Mr. Harpe is a Healer,” McGonagall said. “Well, in truth he is a great many things.” Her girlish titter scandalised Nigel. “He used a special potion on my hands, and they healed in a matter of five minutes!”

Something didn’t seem quite right to Nigel. It was too much of a coincidence that this man should know McGonagall in a seemingly intimate way, and also be the caretaker of Harry back in the Fall. Nigel hardly knew what to think any more, and he couldn’t understand why he felt so angry and over-protective all of a sudden. This man seemed so much like an outsider—what if he were dangerous? What if he were a Death Eater? Nigel’s mind raced furiously.

Harpe continued to look Nigel in the eye.

“I think, Headmistress, that Mr. Chaucer and I should let you get a little rest,” he said grandly.

Nigel thought that someone who looked like Harpe shouldn’t speak so grandly. No, something was not right. Not at all. Even when he and Harpe went out into the corridor together, all Nigel wanted to do was ply him with Veritaserum and interrogate him.

“The Veritaserum will be unnecessary, Chaucer,” Harpe said imperiously.

Damn, Nigel thought. A Legilimens, too!

Nigel rounded on him. “Look, sir, who are you anyway? Why are you here?”

Harpe raised one eyebrow and smirked rakishly. “You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” But then Harpe paused, pulling out his wand. “Muffliato!” he said.

Nigel gasped.


	11. A Test of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unbelievable development! After so long and after so many questions, Nigel only has more to ask...and more to uncover.

Stunned, excited, relieved, Nigel threw himself into Harpe’s arms and rejoiced.

“Oh my gods! Severus!” he cried. “It’s you! I can’t believe it!”

“Yes yes, it’s I.”

Nigel held him tighter. “I’ve missed you so much, and I’ve been so worried about you! I saw Draco in October, and he hadn’t seen you in a while, and I thought you might be dead!”

“I’m fine,” he said. “This, appearance is what’s keeping me safe for now.”

“What is it? Polyjuice Potion?”

“Austin Harpe, or rather, the face I borrowed, is an old friend of the Prince family.”

“His name isn’t Austin Harpe?”

Snape shook his head. “I made up the name. But the man, the face, is a squib actually, as is his wife. Their only connection to the magical world is me, and he hadn’t seen me in about twenty years. He allowed me to, shall we say, borrow, his face when he learned of my rather delicate situation. The family were always true friends to my mother.”

“How long have you been taking the potion?”

Snape took Nigel by the arm and escorted him to a remote, rarely used stairwell, where they sat down on a step, still under the Muffliatus charm.

“I found it necessary to alter my appearance back in September. A change of hair colour or style wasn’t going to be enough. I was in a very dangerous, precarious situation, Nigel. It’s a very long story, and quite complicated. I don’t know that I should tell you.”

“Did you tell Professor McGonagall?”

“I did. Part of it, anyway.”

Nigel became very troubled. “Are you safe? I mean, are you still in danger?”

“I am always in danger. To this school, I shall be Austin Harpe, assistant caretaker to Mr. Filch and Rubeus Hagrid.”

“You’re going to stay here? Work here?”

“As a cover, yes, for a little while. Until it becomes necessary for me to leave. It’ll take me out of the action for now, which I need. I’ve been running a long time and I need to have a rest.”

“Where will you live?”

“Professor McGonagall has already conjured a small hut for me, out by the lake. It’s not fancy, but comfortable.”

“Does anyone but the two of us know who you are?”

Snape’s face grew very serious. “Not a soul. And you must promise not to reveal my identity, even to the teachers or to Miss Granger.”

Nigel flushed a little. “Why would I tell Hermione?”

Snape gave him a wry look. “Because you have a close friendship with her.”

“Can I come and visit you in your hut?”

“Not for a while. Not in the daytime, anyway. That might raise suspicion. Why would the Head Boy suddenly be visiting the assistant caretaker?”

Nigel nodded glumly. “True.”

“Minerva, Professor McGonagall, that is, told me of Mr. Malfoy’s visit last October. What did he want?”

“Sex. With Pansy, of course.” Nigel blushed.

“Of course,” Snape said diffidently, remembering the day he caught Nigel and Malfoy sleeping in each other’s arms by the lake last May. It was entirely innocent, of course, though Nigel couldn’t think about it without the sting of embarrassment.

“What else did he want after he was finished with Miss Parkinson?”

“I think just to talk. He said he hadn’t seen you in a long time, that you had some sort of problem with the Dark Lord and had to go away.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “To say the least.”

“He told me something else, something I already told Professor McGonagall. He apparated into Hogwarts that night. And remember the morning you caught us? We had apparated out of the castle together.”

Snape sat back against the stone wall, the slightest hint of shock on his red face. He scratched his beard and frowned. “And did he explain how he did this?”

“No, not entirely.”

“I thought not. Selfish git.”

“He said something about how if people knew how to do it, it would lead to tyranny.”

Snape pondered that sentiment. “He’s quite right, I’m afraid. Some sorts of knowledge are better left unknown.”

“You sound just like Draco.”

“How was he otherwise? Healthy as a horse, I suppose.”

“He looked okay. He said he’s still at the Dark Lord’s side.”

“Playing a very dangerous game.”

Nigel spoke in a whisper, even though the Muffliatus charm prevented them from being overheard. “Sir, whose side is he on?”

“That is not for you to know. I cannot divulge Mr. Malfoy’s private affairs to you, even if you are his friend.”

“Did Professor McGonagall tell you about the search we’ve been doing?”

“She said you found it.”

“You’re not a Parselmouth, are you?”

“Absolutely not. Potter and the Dark Lord are the only ones I know. That is a very dark trait indeed.”

“Sir, you’re a wealth of information. Perhaps you could help us get Harry into the castle! You undoubtedly know about all the Death Eaters out there!”

“I saw exactly seven as I came up the path from Hogsmeade today. Two of them were classmates of mine from here.”

“Did they recognise you?”

Snape chuckled contentedly. “As far as they were concerned, I was a gruff old man making his way down the path very innocently. No one gave me the time of day, and I was using Legilimency the entire time.” Snape stood up and stretched his legs and arms. “It’s very late, Chaucer. You should be getting home.”

“Shall I return tomorrow? I want to hear your story!”

“Come back the day before term resumes. The castle will still be quiet, and we can talk.”

They gave each other a warm embrace before Nigel went back home, practically skipping the whole way. His mother, however, was none too pleased with his tardiness. Nigel crashed through the door, bounding with excitement.

“Mum! Dad!” he called out. “Sorry I’m late!”

Mrs. Chaucer looked none too pleased. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” she snapped.

“I’m so sorry, Mum, really,” Nigel said apologetically.

“We ate without you,” she said. “You dinner’s cold now.”

“That’s OK. I can microwave it. It’ll be fine.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I really am sorry, Mum.”

“You could have been hurt,” she said. “With all those dangerous wizards running around these days, anyone could have hurt you or even killed you! I know how valuable you are to the wizarding world! The Daily Prophet talks about you all the time!”

Nigel rolled his eyes impatiently. “I’ll call next time, Mum. It’s hard to get a signal from there, though. Hogwarts always cocks up my mobile. Where’s Dad?”

“Upstairs, watching telly.”

Sitting alone in the kitchen eating his ham and potatoes and vegetables, Nigel became entirely lost in thought. He was dying to tell his parents he had seen his cousin Severus Snape, but he didn’t dare. Even though his parents were entirely remote from the wizarding world, that didn’t mean that the Death Eaters prowling about town couldn’t use them in some horrid way. That was the last thing Nigel wanted. And so he honoured his cousin’s request and kept him a well-guarded secret.

After dinner, Nigel went up to see his father, who was watching a video about three witches who live in a house with the devil but who rebel against his control and power. He was laughing at their antics as the film progressed. Nigel climbed into the bed alongside his father and watched a little of the film with him.

“Got your supper?” Mr. Chaucer finally asked.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t call.”

“I know. I’m really sorry, Dad.”

“Your mother’s upset.”

“I know. I explained it to her, and I apologized.”

“Busy at that school already?”

“Well, something sort of came up.”

“Why did you go over there, anyway? Lucy came by today looking for you.”

That was a shock. “She did?” Nigel cried out. “What did she want?”

“She didn’t say.” 

Nigel paused. “We broke up yesterday, Dad,” he confessed quietly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, son,” Mr. Chaucer said. He reached over and put his arm around Nigel’s shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. “I know that’s hard. Do you want to talk about it?”

Nigel sighed. He’d talked about it as much as he could tolerate already, and didn’t want to go over old territory. “I just don’t get it, that’s all. I’ve been as attentive as I could, but it’s been hard being away.”

Nigel curled up next to his father and spent the rest of the evening telling him everything. It felt good, close, even healing to talk to his father, and by the time Nigel crawled into his own bed later that night, he sensed a sudden hope that just might give him strength. He didn’t want to forget Lucy, but in some way, he felt like he had to move ahead and for the moment, put their situation gently aside.

For the rest of his holiday, Nigel saw more of his friends, saw a couple of films and prepared himself mentally for his return to Hogwarts. This was his last term before N.E.W.T’s, and he had so much to learn in a single term that he didn’t know whether he’d accomplish it all. He saw nothing of Lucy, of course. She came by two more times to see him, but he refused to speak to her. He was still aching from her unexpected break-up, and Nigel felt that seeing her again would just reopen the wound. He never had that talk with Hermione either.

The Saturday before the start of term, Nigel decided to take a long walk to Hogsmeade. For the last several days he had felt so stifled and claustrophobic, and he was desperate to get out for a few hours. It wasn’t his parents’ fault, nor was his friends or even Lucy’s. The months away from home had changed Nigel, and in a different way from his time in hospital a year ago. It was a new restlessness, an unquenchable drive, a desire to enter the world and take action. He wanted to touch the Horcrux, open it, be able to destroy it himself. But that was impossible. Only Harry could do that.

Nigel knew exactly what he had to do, yet that was not the source of his anxiety. With Lucy out of his life, he felt suddenly boundless, liberated in an odd sort of way. As he walked toward Hogsmeade, he felt an urge to take full advantage of his power, his status, his house, everything. Forget about Lucy, forget about muggles, forget about all of it. Lucy was right—trying to straddle two discrete worlds was too much. It kept him from fully embracing his new self.

* * * * *

The first place Nigel visited in Hogsmeade was the Three Broomsticks. The pub was packed with witches and wizards drinking anything and everything hot, to fight off the cold outside. In the crowd, Nigel spotted Snape, still looking like Austin Harpe, sitting at the bar, chatting casually with Madame Rosmerta. It was so strange to see his cousin like this. Even though he didn’t look like his cousin, Nigel knew he was. But it was as if the new face, the beard, the red nose, gave Snape a sort of new confidence, a chance to come out of himself in a manner entirely without risk. Nigel felt happy for him.

Snape turned his head toward Nigel and grinned widely, waving him over to the bar. Madame Rosmerta pushed a mug of warm butterbeer toward him.

“Thanks,” he said, reaching in his pocket for change.

“It’s my treat,” Snape said.

Rosmerta winked at him. “You’re so nice, Austin,” she giggled. He winked back.

Nigel laughed. “Flirting, are we?”

Snape gave him a sly look. “Maybe. I need practice. I was never much of flirt in school. Or as an adult. It’s good try new things.”

“Well better late than never. She likes you. Say, uh, Mr. Harpe, could you do me a little favour this term?”

“What’s that?”

“Do you think we could sort of do what we did last year?” He tried to keep his voice low, but the noise of the crowd made that difficult.

Snape raised his eyebrows. “You mean? Like we did on Saturdays?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t ask except that, well, I do have to sit my exams in June. You sort of bring out the best in me.”

Snape smirked. “From what I hear from Professor McGonagall, you’re doing pretty well on your own.” He paused for a moment, pondering the idea. “But I suppose the occasional session couldn’t hurt.”

Nigel whispered in his ear. “Tell me your story. Tell me where you’ve been!”

Snape threw his head back and laughed, as if Nigel had just said something hilarious. Nigel gave him a quizzical look, but in a second, understood what his cousin was doing. He stood up and slapped Snape on the back.

“Yeah, well anyway, Mr. Harpe, I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days!”

Outside, Nigel rebuked himself for putting his cousin in such danger by appearing to be too friendly with someone who was supposed to be a near stranger. He walked quickly to Honeydukes and bought a bag of sweets, then made his way to Scrivenshaft’s to buy some new quills and some black ink. He also had to replenish his parchment supply. Outside Gladrags Wizardwear, he spotted Snape again, this time joking about with a pair of toddlers and their mother. Nigel smiled and moved on, out of the town and back toward Hogwarts.

After a few minutes of walking, he heard footsteps behind him. The footsteps were quick, heavy, likely male. Was it a stranger? Snape? A Death Eater? Malfoy? Reluctant to turn around, Nigel walked on, trying to pick up a little speed. But the faster he walked, the closer the footsteps got.

“Slow down!” a male voice called, thoroughly irritated.

Nigel turned around to see Snape huffing and puffing as he tried to catch up to him. Snape stopped and took a moment to catch his breath.

“You must be getting healthier. I had a heck of a time following you!” His face was redder than usual. Snowflakes sparkled in his craggy beard.

“You’re out of shape!” Nigel said with a laugh. “Sorry about the Three Broomsticks, sir. I lost my head for a moment.”

“No harm done, I think. Do you have a little time?”

Nigel checked his watch—only 2:30. “Yeah, a couple of hours.”

“This way, then.”

Nigel followed Snape through the gates and out toward the plain little hut at the edge of the lake. The blanket of white snow made the grounds seem so quiet, almost reverent in its aspect, filled with mystery and peace. Snape walked with his hands stretched out a little, feeling the chilly breeze as he trudged toward his little house. Nigel wondered what his cousin felt, whether Snape felt the same sharp energy from the snow and the clouds and the gentle air as he did.

The hut wasn’t much to look at—it reminded Nigel of the little shack where Harry had stayed a few months ago—plain, wood floors, Spartan, basic furnishings, a few books on the shelves, a fat cabinet in the corner containing who knew what, and a simple but very comfortable looking cot in another corner.

“Welcome to the Winter Palace,” Snape said sarcastically, ushering Nigel inside. With a casual flick of his wand, he conjured up two teacups and teabags. He then poured piping hot water from the tip of his wand into both their cups. Snape motioned for Nigel to sit by the fire, which he lit with another flick of his wand.

Nigel sipped the hot tea. “This is good. Special blend of yours?”

Snape sipped his own tea. “Just Earl Grey.”

“How long have you been in the area?” Nigel asked, taking a biscuit from the silver plate Snape had just conjured.

“About a week. I was staying in a rented room above the Three Broomsticks, just milling about town a bit, showing my new face. I saw Professor McGonagall and Remus Lupin a couple of days before I saw you.”

“That must have been a shock for them.”

Suddenly, Snape stood up, his expression troubled. “Uh oh,” he said. “It’s wearing off.” He suddenly made a face like he had just eaten a lemon. Nigel feared Snape would sick up his tea and biscuits.

Nigel watched in amazement as the man sitting before him changed before his very eyes. The hair changed first, transforming from thick and grey and curly to long and black and straight, pushing outward like tentacles, now framing the elongated, sallow face like heavy curtains. The clothing remained, but they hung loose on his slender but powerful frame. For a moment, Snape, now looking much more like himself, looked a bit ill.

“Damn,” he breathed. “That was disgusting.” His face turned chalk white for a moment.

“Are you OK?”

Snape took a deep breath. He shuddered. “Yes, I think so. Anyway, to return to your question, I would have to say that yes, they were deeply shocked. Needless to say, I had much to explain.”

“Were they angry?”

“To say the least. But once I explained myself to them, they changed their attitude and became quite kind to me. I was rather shocked by that, to be honest. I didn’t feel I deserved it.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them why I…killed Albus.” He swallowed hard.

Nigel paused, unsure if he wanted to make his cousin tell the ugly story yet again. He looked at Snape in the eye, searching for an answer, but Snape was too accomplished an Occlumens.

“You can ask me, Nigel,” Snape said. “You don’t have to sneak into my thoughts.”

Nigel blushed hotly. “Sorry, sir. I just didn’t want…”

Snape nodded sympathetically. “You know how I felt about Professor Dumbledore, doubtless.”

“Of course.”

“I was at the council of Death Eaters the summer the Dark Lord returned, where the plot to take over Hogwarts, the Ministry and Azkaban was formed. Naturally, the first part of that was to assassinate Albus Dumbledore. I don’t have to explain why that was needed by the Dark Lord.”

“No, of course not.”

“Upon my return to Hogwarts, I informed Albus of the plot against his life. At the time, I didn’t know how the Dark Lord planned to have him killed. All I knew was that he wouldn’t do it personally. At first, I was sure he would ask me to do it, as a test of my loyalty, but when he didn’t, I worried. And then, after that cockup at the Ministry where Lucius Malfoy lost the Prophecy, I knew what would happen without anyone having to tell me. The Dark Lord is a vengeful bastard, after all.”

Nigel started at the word “bastard.” He’d never heard Snape use such language before, especially about the Dark Lord. “So you reckoned it would be Draco?”

“How could it not be? He thought he was being so clever by keeping it from us at first, but I knew. And then he went and made that poor boy a Death Eater, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I was in no position to warn Malfoy off or to get him safely away, so I had to let it happen. That was when I went to Albus, to discuss the situation. And that was when he ordered me to do the unthinkable.”

Nigel’s face fell. “You mean kill him?”

“Mr. Malfoy is a fragile being, really. A lot of people say he’s just like his father, but I don’t think that’s true. Lucius Malfoy is deeply evil, a sociopath with absolutely no conscience, no ability to feel any sort of empathy for anyone, including his treasured son. But Draco is different. He postures and tries to live up to Lucius’ example, but his heart isn’t so cold. He feels a genuine love and affinity that his father is incapable of. Albus saw that quality in him, too, and we both endeavoured to save him.”

“But why kill Dumbledore at all? Why not let him live and still save Draco?”

“Because Albus was also thinking of Mr. Potter. He knew that as long as he was alive, the Dark Lord would be reluctant to kill Potter outright, which would keep the wizarding world at war. Many years ago I had made a solemn promise to Albus to follow his orders, however difficult they might be. This promise was…well…part of a deal we had made.”

“A deal?”

“Professor Dumbledore helped me through a very difficult point in my life, helped me get out of the Death Eaters. I owed him everything, my life, my blood, my loyalty.”

“What would happen if you broke your promise?”

“Nothing physical. It wasn’t about magic, Chaucer. It was more than that. It was my integrity, my character on the line, my self-respect. He ordered me to take his life, in spite of my protests.”

“But he can’t force you to do something immoral! That’s not fair to you!”

Snape scowled. “In wartime, morality can get a bit muddled, I’m afraid, and too often we have to do things that are repugnant in peacetime.”

“Like killing your mentor?”

Snape flushed. “Yes.”

“What if you had said no?”

“I almost did. I tried to renege twice, but Albus wouldn’t hear of it. He actually threatened to sack me and cast me out if I refused.”

“That seems a bit cruel.”

Snape shook his head. “He was guided by wisdom and goodness, always, Chaucer. My refusal would have meant a selfishness on my part. It would have meant a potential return to the Dark Side on my part. He had to be entirely sure that I would not do that. If I could sacrifice what meant the most to me, then my goodness was assured.”

Nigel looked unconvinced. He gave a hard look to his cousin.

“It’s getting late, Chaucer. I’ll see you in a couple of days, when term starts up again.”

“And will you tell me more of where you’ve been?”

“I promise.”


	12. Wherever, Whenever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a note from Blaise Zabini: "Wherever, whenever." What could that mean?

Like clockwork, they returned, like little soldiers off to war, carrying their trunks and bags and new Christmas packages. They all arrived on the Hogwarts Express the afternoon before the new term began, bundled in thick cloaks and hats and cowls covering their hair and ears, rushing for cover in the carriages that waited to bring them back to school. Nigel trudged slowly back to Hogwarts, bringing with him a bagful of things, for himself and for his many friends at school.

Blaise Zabini looked wonderful. He had into something very much like a glowing bronzed god, toned, rested and even more gloriously handsome than he was when he left. Zabini wore an elegant, very expensive blue cloak fastened at the throat with a majestic white gold pin encrusted with emeralds and diamonds. In the Slytherin common room, he took time passing out gifts to all his friends. Pansy received a beautiful silver quill. Nott received a luxurious pair of black, baby dragon-hide gloves. Zabini gave Crabbe and Goyle five pounds each of fine Belgian chocolate.

To Nigel, Zabini gave a piece of rolled up parchment, tied with a green silk ribbon.

“Read that later,” he said a little secretly.

“Sure. Thanks, mate. So how were all the topless girls at the Cote d’Azur?”

Zabini grinned wickedly. “Sweet, soft, submissive. It was a good holiday. How’s the muggle girlfriend?”

Nigel scowled. “Past history,” he said.

Zabini gave him a sly look. “Single, are we? Looks like you’re in for a brilliant term, Chaucer.” He slapped Nigel on the back and disappeared into the boys’ dorm to unpack, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. Nigel was too stunned to respond.

Pansy sat alone by the fire, glancing sideways at Nigel.

“Too bad about your girl, Nigel,” she said with feigned sympathy. “I suppose she thought you were cheating on her.”

Nigel sat next to her. “I don’t know what she was thinking, to be frank. Maybe she did.”

“Are you over it? Over her?”

Nigel looked into her eyes. What he saw in her mind both shocked and excited him, and now that he was single…

“Are you over Draco?” he asked smoothly.

“What do you think?” she said kittenishly.

Pansy smirked, and then, she leaned forward and kissed him softly on the cheek, then the neck. Nigel drew in his breath as she traced the outline of his throat with the tip of her tongue. His hands trembled in anticipation as she kissed his lips gently first, then harder, more greedily. Nigel pulled her closer to him, letting her run her hands under his shirt, up his back and shoulders as they kissed more deeply. It was a brilliant two minutes of sheer, uninhibited passion, broken up only when Professor Slughorn bounded into the room in his typically jolly way.

“Dear oh dear oh dear!” he chortled merrily. “I think you two didn’t get enough time under the mistletoe this Christmas!” Slughorn laughed at his own joke. 

Nigel and Pansy both stood up, slightly disarranged and stunned. Nigel quickly tucked his shirt in, whilst Pansy buttoned up the top of her blouse, and just in time. The other Slytherins poured into the common room at the sound of Slughorn’s voice, waiting for new instructions for the new term. Nigel and Pansy blushed beet red, hoping no one saw what they just did.

“Now then, everyone, if you will all gather round for a quick moment,” Slughorn said, waving his hands. Everyone obeyed, though reluctantly. “I am most pleased with all of you and the fine way you behaved last term. Needless to say, we in Slytherin House endured a bit of trouble, and no doubt we all felt the need to prove our good will to the school. With the fine example of Mr. Chaucer here, as well as the other Prefects, I am pleased to see how well you have all succeeded. We are in the lead in Quidditch this year by a good three hundred and twenty points, and we are only a forty-five points behind Gryffindor for the House Cup. I believe we can really give them a run for their money this term.”

Everyone hooted and cheered and high-fived each other. Pansy gave Nigel a quick kiss on the lips and laughed, not caring who saw her do it.

With further commendations from Slughorn, the Slytherins were dismissed to the Great Hall for dinner. Pansy walked ahead of Nigel, gossiping with her girlfriends. Nigel walked with Zabini.

“Did you read it yet?” he asked.

“Not yet. I got a bit sidetracked.”

“Pansy?”

Nigel laughed.

“You work fast,” Zabini said, impressed. “She over Draco?”

“Apparently.”

“You better not tell him.”

“When would I? I don’t even know where he is!”

Zabini shrugged. “True.”

“Do you? Know where he is?”

“Mother said he’s with his father, but her lover said he heard that Draco ran off in December.”

That didn’t sound good to Nigel. If that were true, he could be anywhere, and if he really was in league with the Dark Lord, he could be after Snape, or worse, after Harry. Nigel determined to talk to Snape as soon as he could. But that conversation would have to wait. During dinner that night, Nigel spent a little quality time playing footsie with Pansy, but the moment dinner was over, he had to start his Head Boy duties. He and Hermione met outside the Great Hall while everyone was still finishing up pudding.

Hermione was already frowning when Nigel shut the door. Before he could say a word, she started in on him.

“What are you doing, messing about with Pansy Parkinson?” she barked at him.

Nigel was stunned. “How did you hear about that?”

“She told all her girlfriends that you’re her new boyfriend, and of course, everyone at the Gryffindor table overheard her, and now the whole school knows! What are you thinking? Correction: what are you NOT thinking?”

“Hang on a second, Hermione! Since when is my love life your business?”

“You just lost your girlfriend! You can’t be serious about Pansy!”

“Why do you care? You already have a boyfriend!”

Suddenly, Hermione blushed bright red. She tried to speak in a measured tone. “I just think you’re making a big mistake rushing into a new relationship with someone like Pansy Parkinson right after you suffered a shock from Lucy. That’s all.”

That answer didn’t satisfy Nigel. “Can we talk about this later? We’ve got to start rounds. We also need to figure out what to do about you-know-what.”

“Say, did you see the new caretaker? He looks nice. Hagrid thinks he’s brilliant!”

“I met him briefly last week. Austin Harpe’s his name.”

“I watched him one day with a young unicorn. It was so sweet! He seems to like animals almost as much as Hagrid does! Except for Mrs. Norris, of course.”

The thought of Snape petting fluffy bunny rabbits popped into Nigel’s mind, and it made him laugh. “Listen, Hermione, I’m sorry I got cross just now. I had one snog with Pansy, but that was all. I’m not her boyfriend.”

“Does she know that?” Hermione asked tartly.

Nigel shrugged.

“Nigel?” Hermione insisted. “Are you really interested in her, or is it just a sex thing?”

Nigel dropped his jaw in shock. “Oh come on, Hermione!”

Hermione laughed. “I’m serious! I’ll be the first to admit that she’s a pretty girl. And from what I hear, she’s pretty aggressive. I can understand how a handsome boy like yourself would want to mess about with Pansy.”

Nigel gave her a wry grin. “You think I’m handsome, do you?”

She smiled. “You know you’re gorgeous, Nigel. We all know that. Just be careful around her, that’s all. She’s dangerous.”

Dangerous? Pansy? Maybe. Nigel felt a little skeptical about that assessment. Sure, Pansy was vain and toffee-nosed, but dangerous? After rounds were done and he and Hermione parted, Nigel returned to the Slytherin common room, heading straight for the boys’ dorm to go to bed. Suddenly, he stopped.

Zabini’s note. He forgot to read it. Nigel sat down in his favourite chair by the fire and unrolled the parchment. His eyes widened with a mixture of bewilderment and shock as he read the brief note:

_Nigel,  
Whatever. Whenever._

Blaise

* * * * *

The second term began just as explosively as the first. The feeling amongst the Seventh Years was that of a slowly increasing tension as the reality of their upcoming N.E.W.T’s overpowered them. There was more homework, more study sessions, more late nights studying and meeting with study partners, more fretting and pacing and worrying. For Nigel, there was also that note, but also the return of his cousin. Nigel decided to pay Snape a little late night visit after his first day of lessons, just to say hello—and to get a little advice.

“That note could mean a lot of things, Chaucer,” Snape said to him that night as they sat by the lake, ice fishing. A few snowflakes had gathered in Snape’s beard, which he brushed away from time to time with heavily gloved hands. “I get the feeling you automatically assume that he means something sexual by his note.”

Nigel blushed. Snape raised an eyebrow. “I never said that,” Nigel said, a little defencively.

“You seem unnerved by the prospect.”

“You’re making a lot of presumptions!” Nigel sighed. “But it does make me wonder. How do you handle something like that? I wouldn’t know what to say, to another bloke, I mean.”

“I imagine you would say the same thing you would say to anyone—thanks but no thanks.” Snape paused to check his fishing line. Nothing. He put it back in the water. “But I think it might be appropriate to ask Mr. Zabini to clarify the meaning of his note before you make any undue assumptions. Don’t you agree? It could be something social, academic, even political.”

Nigel nodded. “True,” he admitted.

Snape chuckled. “Goodness, Chaucer! I never knew you were such a prude!”

The next morning after breakfast, Nigel decided to bite the proverbial bullet and ask the big question. As Zabini cleared away his and Nigel’s breakfast dishes, Nigel watched him pensively.

“Thanks, mate,” Nigel said as they left the Great Hall and headed for their first class. “Say, I read your note the other night.”

Zabini nodded but said nothing for a few moments. But once they were relatively alone in the corridor, he turned to face Nigel. “I’m serious, Nigel. Whatever. Whenever.”

Nigel searched his mind frantically for the right words. “Listen, Blaise, about that.”

Zabini stopped. He smiled and laughed. “You think I want to bonk you, right?”

Nigel hadn’t expected Zabini to be so blunt. He flushed red hot. “Well…I…” he started.

Zabini grinned for a moment. “I guess I should have clarified what I meant.” He drew close to Nigel and whispered in his ear. “I can’t tell you here, though. Too many people.”

“After lessons, then?”

“At the lake? South side?”

“Right. South side.”

The intensity of Zabini’s demeanor distracted Nigel throughout the day, and he started to worry that he might have been somewhat rude and presumptuous toward him earlier. It didn’t help things that Nigel sat with him in all of their lessons that day, and that they had partnered up in Charms and in Transfiguration. In Charms, Nigel got to demonstrate the slow-motion banishing charm he had learned from Snape the previous year, both with and without a wand. The vast majority of the class practiced it with wands, but no one was able to perform it successfully. Even Hermione couldn’t get it right.

The ensuing chaos made it impossible for Nigel to say much of anything to Zabini at all, which suited Nigel just fine. Instead, he busied himself helping Zabini with his technique, showing him the charm the same way Snape had shown him. Zabini and Nigel were the only ones to get full marks for their work that day. The additional twenty points to Slytherin made it even better. Hermione was visibly chagrined. Afterward, Nigel retreated to the Library to return a borrowed book on Goblin magic.

At the lake later that afternoon, Nigel approached slowly. Zabini was already there, pacing back and forth, looking very preoccupied and a little troubled. Nigel didn’t know what to think, nor what to expect. He had grown to see Blaise Zabini as entirely mysterious, even more so than Draco was. Where Draco always held strong command of his friends and cronies, Zabini was more of a lone wolf of sorts, more inclined to protect his immediate comfort than to scratch and claw for power the way Draco did. Zabini caught sight of Nigel and smiled and waved.

“Thanks for coming, mate,” Zabini said.

“No problem,” Nigel replied. “Do you want to walk or sit?”

“Let’s walk.” So they walked, slowly. Zabini remained in a pensive silence for a full two minutes as they made their way around the lake. He seemed to struggle for words.

“So what’s up, Blaise?” Nigel asked. “What’s on your mind?”

“I lied before. I ran into Draco over the holiday,” he said quietly.

“That’s right, you said he had run off.”

“He did.” Zabini’s tone was morose, a little sad. “It was hard to fathom why, though, but I got the feeling that he had sort of abandoned the Dark Lord.”

Nigel frowned. “Sort of? What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know. I’m no Legilimens or anything, so it wasn’t anything like that. You know, my mother is devoted to the Dark Lord’s cause. She’s no Death Eater or anything, nor is her lover, but the two of them do funnel money to the Dark Lord.”

“What do you think about that?” Nigel asked sharply.

Zabini paused. He stopped in his tracks and looked away from Nigel for a moment. “I need your help, I think”

“My help? What do you mean?”

“You’re no follower of the Dark Lord, right?”

“Of course I’m not.”

“See, I’m getting confused. My two best friends in this world are seemingly on opposite sides of this war, and I don’t know how to reconcile it with myself.” His strikingly handsome face looked so troubled just then. Nigel felt bad for his friend. Looking into Zabini’s mind, Nigel could see that he was sincere.

“I can’t tell you what to believe, Blaise. You have to discern that for yourself. I can only answer for myself. These are hard times right now, and blokes like you are being pulled in a lot of different directions. You want to obey your mum, but you seem not to approve of all she stands for.”

Zabini nodded. “I think you’re an amazing wizard, Nigel,” he said. “But I think you’re an honourable man, too. You have treated me really kindly and fairly, and I trust you.”

Nigel was completely astonished by this confession. He hardly knew what to say. “Well, thank you, Blaise. You’ve made me speechless.”

“Look. My family is very rich, and very influential. The Zabini name carries a lot of weight in the wizarding world. Whatever you need, anything at all, whether it be related to school or whatever else, I want to give it to you.”

“You don’t have to ingratiate yourself…”

“I’m not…”

“I’m not Draco Malfoy, Blaise! You don’t owe me anything. Really. I’m glad to be your friend, period. That’s what I want from you. Your friendship…”

“And my loyalty?” Zabini looked at him intently.

“Whatever goes along with friendship, then yeah.”

“Just remember what I said. Whatever, whenever. I swear it.”

All that night after everyone had gone to bed, Nigel pondered deeply his conversation with Zabini. That Zabini would swear his loyalty troubled Nigel—it humbled him, too. He suddenly felt the burden of responsibility yet he wasn’t sure how to respond to it. Too filled with thoughts to relax, he made his way up to the Prefects’ Bathroom to take a warm bath, longing for its soothing comfort. He pushed the door open and stepped inside and shut the door behind him, locking it tight. Nigel turned on the various taps, letting the warm water and different kinds of soap bubbles fill the grand bathtub. Slowly, his mind still racing with thoughts, he shed his clothes and set them aside. The room filled with the scent of roses.

“Nice arse, Chaucer!” Draco Malfoy barked, making Nigel jump with fright and embarrassment.

Nigel whipped around to see Draco approaching him, dressed from head to toe in black. His hood was still up, and snowflakes dusted his broad shoulders.

“What the hell?” Nigel shouted. “Sonofabitch! You can’t do that to people, Draco!” He grabbed his towel and quickly wrapped it around his waist.

“Oh grow up, Chaucer,” Draco said impatiently. “It’s not like I’ve never seen one before! Don’t be such a Puritan! Go on, get in the bath. I’ll join you. Geez, I really missed this bath! We have a nice one at Malfoy Manor, but it’s not nearly as good as this one.”

“Look Draco, I know we’re friends and all, but I’m not sharing my bath with you!” Nigel stood his ground.

“Shut up, Chaucer,” Draco said derisively. “Don’t you know your history? The ancient Romans shared common baths.”

Nigel scowled. “They also crucified people.”

With a smirk, Draco pulled of his cloak, then his shoes, socks, sweater and trousers. Finally, his underwear, tossing everything aside. Draco moved over to the bathtub and stuck his hand in. “Ahh! Perfect.” With that, he climbed into the sprawling bath and dunked his head underwater.

Furious, Nigel moved to put his clothes back on, but Draco stopped him.

“Come on, Chaucer, get in. Don’t be mad at me. I come in here a lot, when no one is about. I swear I didn’t know you’d be in here. I’m sorry I embarrassed you, mate. Come on, get in! I won’t bite. See? I’m all the way over here!”

“Oh all right,” Nigel said. He dropped the towel and got in the opposite end of the bathtub. Draco was right. The water felt perfect. All Nigel had to do was try and forget that he was in the same bathtub with another naked boy. He felt relieved that the tub was massive.

“I forgot you frequented the Prefects’ Bathroom,” Draco said languidly. “Pain relief, right?”

“Yeah.” Nigel laid his head back and closed his eyes. “I heard you ran away from your father. Is that true?”

Silence. Nigel lifted his head and looked Draco in the eye. He saw absolutely nothing. Damn. Nigel had forgotten that Draco was an expert Occlumens.

“I suppose Blaise told you that.”

“Someone told me.” Nigel closed his mind just then, not wanting to betray Zabini’s trust. “So what’s going on?”

“Remember last year when you got overly inquisitive and I told you to butt out?” Draco said, his voice irritated.

“You should have told me everything.”

“There is only one person who knows what I’m up to, and that’s me. Why do you always want to draw information out of me, Chaucer?”

“Because you’re my friend,” Nigel replied.

“I know what side you’re on,” he said.

“Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine. I just thought you might trust me enough to confide in me.”

Draco’s face hardened. “I’m not in a position to trust anyone.” He ran his fingers through the water and watch the surface ripple. “I wish I could, Nigel. I wish I could tell you everything. I just couldn’t stay there any longer. I can’t tell you why.”

Overcome with pity for his friend, Nigel swam over to Draco’s side of the bath and sat next to him. He could see the pain on his friend’s elegant features, and more than ever, Nigel wanted to ease Draco’s mind. He put a hand on Draco’s shoulder.

“You’re in danger, then?” Nigel asked.

Draco nodded, staring intently at the blue and orange soap bubbles. “It’s just…” he began, but then he broke off. He steeled himself and took a deep breath. “I had to get away. I had to think. With Father back home now, everything is different. It should be like old times. It should be good. But it’s…it’s not.”

“I wish you could be back here,” Nigel said. “At least you’d be safe here. How long have you been gone?”

“Nearly a month. I left before Christmas. I didn’t even leave a bloody note. I just couldn’t deal with…”

“With what?”

“Fenrir Greyback.” Draco shuddered. “Father had him at the house again and again, which was bad enough. I could hear him prowling the hall outside my bedroom at night. I couldn’t sleep. And then, he wanted Greyback to take me on a private mission for the Dark Lord. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand to be alone with that freak. He scares the hell out of me.”

“He scares a lot of people. You were right to leave, then. But won’t your father be looking for you?” He could feel Draco trembling, even though his skin was warm from the bath. Draco nodded furtively. 

He suddenly grabbed Nigel roughly by the shoulders and plunged both of them deep under water. They wrestled playfully under the water for a few moments, and when they surfaced, Draco held Nigel by the shoulders and pulled him close, looking deep into his eyes. Nigel looked back, slowly, carefully, realizing what Draco was letting him do.

“I’ll give you thirty seconds, Chaucer,” Draco said dangerously. “I want you to see it all.”

Nigel looked. In Draco’s mind, Nigel saw a barrage of images. He saw Lucius Malfoy bringing down the end of his serpent cane hard against Draco’s ribs. He saw Greyback in the dark shadows, conniving something horrible. He saw thirteen people in dark, hooded robes, standing in a circle, wand tips joined together, green light emanating from the centre. He saw, to his horror, a list of people marked for death, including Harry, Severus, Draco and…Nigel, and he saw the thirteen people place a charm on the list. And then, just before Draco shut his eyes against him, Nigel saw a painting…a painting of Adam and Eve.

“What was that painting, Draco?”

“Which one? We have a lot of paintings.”

“The Adam and Eve one.”

“Oh yeah, that one! That one’s in Father’s library. Father and his associates have been meeting there these last several weeks. Why?”

“It just looked familiar. I expect lots of people have paintings like that.”

“You saw the list?”

Nigel blanched. “Why would they want me dead? They don’t even know me or have any history with me.”

“Father has a vendetta against you, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve never met your father!”

“No, I know. He accused you of, well, as he put it, of stealing my affections. It’s not what you think.”

Nigel furrowed his brow. “So, he hates me because we’re friends?”

“Because, well, for a lot of reasons. You’re loyal to Snape. You’re on Potter’s side in the war. Your parents are muggles. He didn’t like that. And when I told him I think of you as a brother, he especially didn’t like that. That was when he struck me in the ribs.”

Nigel nodded. “I saw. Does he do that a lot?”

“Not often. It’s supposed to make a man out of me.”

“I feel so bad for you, Draco. What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know, Chaucer. I’ve just been sort of roaming about, trying to stay ten steps ahead of Greyback.”

“He followed you?”

“It’s likely.”

“But he can’t…”

“No. Hogwarts is safe from him.” Suddenly, he turned on Nigel. “Dammit, Chaucer, I hate you!” he said bitterly.

“What? You just said you like me!”

“I do, but you always do this to me!”

“What?”

Draco clenched his fists in frustration. “You make me…say things, things I shouldn’t talk about. It’s like you have this way of getting me to let down my guard or something. How do you do that?”

Nigel scowled. “Don’t be indulgent, Malfoy. Calm down.”

“Dammit, Chaucer! I really miss you, mate. I hate this, being out there alone. I need you. I need our friendship.”

“Where will you go now? How can I get in touch with you?”

Draco pulled away from Nigel. He got out of the bath, quickly dried off and got dressed.

“Thanks for letting me share your bath. You’re a good friend.”

But before Nigel could reply, Draco had disapparated.


	13. A Shocking Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A humbled and changed Severus Snape has to present himself to some in the Order...but what he has to say horrifies everyone in the room, Nigel included.

Life at Hogwarts got more and more hectic as January disappeared into February. More homework, more practice exams, more pressure. Nigel did all he could to keep a fairly healthy balance, but it wasn’t easy. The burden of Draco’s visit weighed on him heavily, especially as he continued to carry on with Pansy from time to time. Nigel felt especially guilty when Draco confessed his deep, brotherly affection for him. On the other hand, Zabini remained true to his promise, becoming a trusted friend and confidante. Nigel remained careful about what he revealed to Zabini, especially regarding Severus, Draco and Harry, but he still shared much with him. A careful use of Legilimency guided Nigel along the way, but as time passed, he realised quickly that Zabini could be trusted.

Hermione, however, became almost unbearable by the start of February, and there were still five months to go before exams. She quizzed Nigel interminably as they walked their rounds at night, until one day he told her to stop.

“Hermione! We have months to go!” he snapped. “Give it a rest! Save your energies for that trophy!”

“Have you thought any more about it?” she asked him.

“It’s almost all I think about.”

“Between snogs with Pansy,” she said waspishly.

Nigel grinned. “During snogs with Pansy. That’s when I do my best thinking.”

“She’s not a Legilimens, is she?”

“I sure hope to hell not. Our bigger worry is still getting Harry in here.”

“You shouldn’t use her like that if you don’t love her.”

“Well if you think she loves me, you’re quite mistaken!” Nigel said sharply.

Hermione gave him an eager look. “I looked up a book in the Library the other day while I was revising for Charms, and I found something interesting. But it involves giving Harry a potion that, if brewed wrong, could be…well…lethal.”

“And if it’s brewed right?”

“He’ll become invisible for exactly two hours.”

“But do we want to take that sort of risk?”

Hermione hesitated. “I was thinking, Nigel, that maybe you could brew it. You’re the best potion maker I’ve ever seen, and I know you could do it.”

Nigel sighed. “What’s it called?”

“The Weapon.”

Nigel made a face. “That’s an odd name for a potion. Are you sure it’s legitimate?”

“I found it in the Library. It must be OK.”

Nigel scowled. “It sounds dangerous. Can you show me the directions?”

Before he had finished speaking, Hermione had already pulled out the parchment from her robes and thrust it into his hands. Nigel looked at the ingredients and frowned.

“Belladonna? You’re not serious, are you?”

“It’s just a trace amount.”

“I’m not comfortable giving Harry belladonna. It’s toxic!”

“Just think about it, OK?”

There had to be a better way. Nigel knew that Snape would be able to tell him more about The Weapon, so that Friday night, well after hours, he snuck out of Slytherin House and stole out to his cousin’s hut. To Nigel’s relief, Snape was still awake, reading a book of verse and smoking a sweet-smelling pipe. He knocked softly at the door.

“Mr. Harpe!” Nigel whispered harshly. “It’s me! Nigel Chaucer!”

Footsteps. The door opened and Nigel slipped in. Snape looked extremely cross.

“What are you doing out of bounds at such an hour, Nigel? I have a mind to report you to the Headmistress!”

“She gave me carte blanche to go wherever I want,” Nigel said a bit too imperiously.

Snape scowled. “Well, then, Your Excellency, you may as well have a seat and pour yourself a little sherry. I have no children’s beverages. Then again, I seem to recall that you are quite an expert on fire whiskey, especially late at night and straight out of Mr. Malfoy’s bottle.”

Nigel laughed. He poured himself some sherry and, sitting by the fire, he helped himself to a slice of warm brown bread. “You were right, you know. About Zabini’s note.”

Snape smirked. “Of course I was. Restraint will always get you farther in life, Chaucer. It will keep you very safe.”

“I suppose.”

Snape puffed on his pipe. “So what did he want?”

“To sort of offer himself to me.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “What on earth do you mean, boy?”

“Resources. Time. Energy. Loyalty.”

“Interesting. I always found Zabini to be a bit of a wild card. Still, it’s important for you to be able to bring people like him to our side.”

“I suppose so. This bread is really good.”

“Made by Madame Rosmerta.”

“Really? You know, you should ask her out on a date, sir. I think she likes you!”

Snape eyed him wryly. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

“You strumpet,” Nigel joked. 

Snape chuckled softly. “You must be able to hold Zabini’s trust, Chaucer. Never give him a reason to doubt your friendship.”

“I just felt sort of bad for him. He’s really torn up about this whole war. I think he’s confused. He seems to need some sort of stability.”

Snape grinned. “I always knew you were right for Slytherin,” he said with a note of delight. “Do you see it, Chaucer? I seem to recall your doubts about your placement with us.”

Nigel pondered for a moment. He thought about everyone, about Zabini’s desperation, Draco’s struggles, even Harry’s vulnerability. Nigel glanced up at Snape. He sat up straight and opened his mouth to speak. “I think I finally do.”

“Tell me.”

Nigel felt a little like he was having a lesson with Snape, just like old times. “I guess it’s just that I can reach out to people like Blaise and Draco as a Slytherin, where I couldn’t if I were a Gryffindor.”

Snape gave him a nod of the head. He reached forward just then, taking Nigel by the shoulders, and kissed him on the forehead. “I’m very proud of you, Nigel,” he said. “You really are the greatest wizard since Albus Dumbledore.”

“Because I’m glad I’m in Slytherin?”

Snape briefly rolled his eyes. “Because you are wise and judicious far beyond your years, despite your occasional idiotic statements.” Snape sat back and gave Nigel an intense look. “I wish to do precisely what Blaise Zabini did.”

That sounded weird. “What?”

“Swear my loyalty to you.”

Nigel hadn’t expected that, especially from Severus Snape. “Sir, Severus, I…I don’t think that’s really necessary.”

“You are too humble to see how necessary it truly is, which is another reason why I wish to do so. For many years I hesitated to state my true loyalties to anyone, fearing for my own safety. Of course, I knew my loyalties rested with Albus, but I could never say so publicly. But now that I have openly broken with the Dark Lord, I have nothing to lose. You see, Nigel, like I said to you in May, Potter will put an end to the Dark Lord’s reign of terror, but you and those loyal to you will rebuild the wizarding world from within. Some of his Death Eaters will undoubtedly try to continue his legacy, so the more Slytherin loyalty you can garner, the less damage these Death Eaters will inflict.”

Nigel suddenly laughed. “No pressure or anything!”

Snape laughed, too. “None at all!”

Nigel sighed. He desperately wanted to change the subject, so he dug in his pocket for the directions for The Weapon. “Do you know this potion, sir?” He handed the parchment to Snape.

As Snape read down the page, his expression went from mildly interested to lightly annoyed to downright furious. “What is this for?”

Nigel swallowed a lump in his throat. “To get Potter in here.”

“More likely to kill him. This potion is rubbish, Chaucer. Where did you find this?”

“Hermione found it in the Library.”

Snape grunted with disgust. “Figures. Insufferable know-it-all. And did she tell you the title of the book from which she extracted this poison?”

“Poison?” Nigel yelped. “Surely not!”

“The Weapon makes the person invisible for two hours—undoubtedly, the silly girl didn’t read the full context of the potion’s history. This potion only works when applied to a corpse! You use it to hide a dead body! If ingested, it is lethal, no matter how well it is made! Did she tell you that?”

“No, sir.”

“I thought not. Really, Chaucer, how can you rebuild the wizarding world when you trust the judgement of Miss Granger?”

“You really dislike her, don’t you?”

“I don’t dislike her,” Snape said with a sniff. “What I dislike is her tendency to stick her nose into things she can’t possibly understand. She lacks your restraint.”

“She has a good heart, sir. Surely you can see that.”

“Of course she does. I didn’t say she’s a bad person.”

Nigel took another piece of bread. “Have you ever been to Malfoy Manor?”

“Not often. I’m not pureblooded enough to be a frequent visitor there,” Snape said acerbically. “Why?”

“I saw Draco again, just a few days ago.”

“Where? Here at Hogwarts?”

“He apparated into the Prefects’ bathroom. I was just about to get in the bath when he came in.”

“How awkward for you. Please tell me you at least had a towel on.”

Nigel blushed hotly. “I wish I had. He scared the shite out of me.”

Nigel told Snape about his conversation with Draco to the very last detail, including the images that Draco let Nigel see in his mind. Snape frowned more gravely at each one.

“I can’t believe Lucius still does that to him. He’s a bigger bully than I thought. Why is this picture so important?”

“Because there’s one that looks just like it here at Hogwarts. It could be just a coincidence, but I don’t think so. Fred and George Weasley told me that the picture might be a passageway.”

“Marvelous!” Snape exclaimed sardonically. “Now all we have to do is get Mr. Potter into Malfoy Manor!”

Nigel rolled his eyes. “Very funny, sir. But you’re actually right.”

“If…it is a passageway. Do you know for certain?”

“I could try and find out.”

“And get yourself killed? I think not.” Snape thought for a moment. “But perhaps Mr. Zabini could do it.”

“And get himself killed?”

Snape glared at him. “Another idiotic statement from you, Mr. Chaucer. He won’t get killed. He’s respectable, he’s pureblooded, no one knows he might not be disloyal to the Dark Lord, and most of all, he is known to be a friend to Draco. Take advantage of his offer to you.”

* * * * *

“That is out of the question, Mr. Chaucer,” Professor McGonagall said plainly. “How could you even suggest such an idea, Severus?”

Nigel stood before her desk, begging her to allow Blaise Zabini to make this experimental trip through the secret passage to Malfoy Manor. Lupin stood by the fireplace, deep in thought, whilst Snape, still looking like Austin Harpe, stood by Nigel’s side.

“But it makes perfect sense, Professor,” Nigel pleaded. “And no one will think he was up to anything bad if he were seen there!”

“You are forgetting that Fenrir Greyback is in residence there and likely is in that library often! Not to mention that the house is swarming with Death Eaters! Even an innocent trip to the Manor could result in terrible tragedy for Mr. Zabini,” McGonagall said.

“I have to side with Minerva in this,” Lupin said. “It’s too much of a risk. No one deserves this fate, not even for our cause.”

That point chastened both Nigel and Snape.

“It could be, furthermore,” Lupin continued, “that the passage doesn’t lead to Malfoy Manor at all. It could lead anywhere. You’re just guessing.”

“You didn’t see the picture,” Nigel said. “It is exactly like the one here.”

“I really think we must listen to Mr. Chaucer in this, Minerva,” Snape said.

“It is too dangerous for a student!” she insisted.

“This might be our best chance of getting Potter in here! We have to do this! Surely you see this.”

“Of course we want to get Harry in here, Severus,” Lupin said, “but at the risk of Mr. Zabini’s life or his future? The full moon is out in five days. Do you have any idea how badly this scheme could go wrong for Mr. Zabini?”

“We can wait out five days, Lupin,” Snape shot back.

“Have you approached Blaise about this?” Lupin asked Nigel.

“I wanted to get your approval first.”

“You know how we feel,” McGonagall said. “But if we can place some safeguards in there, then, perhaps…”

“You can’t be serious!” Lupin looked at her in shock. “I can’t believe you’re agreeing to this, Minerva!” he snapped. “Even when not transformed, Fenrir Greyback is extremely dangerous!”

“I share your trepidation, Remus,” McGonagall said gravely. “But I think Severus and Nigel have a point. The sooner we can do this, the sooner this war can end.”

“Since when are you taking directions from a student, Severus?” Lupin asked. “No offence to you, Nigel, of course.”

“If you must know, Lupin,” Snape said stiffly, “I have sworn my loyalty to Mr. Chaucer.”

Lupin stared at him blankly. “He’s seventeen,” he said.

“I’m happy to see your mathematical abilities are not marred by your condition, Lupin,” Snape shot back. “I suggest the both of you do the very same thing as I did.”

Lupin laughed. “Swear allegiance to an unqualified wizard?”

Snape smirked. “You doubt my wisdom?”

“I doubt a great many things about you, Severus.”

“You always did have the unfortunate tendency to pay heed to short-sighted, arrogant wizards, Remus.”

“And how’s your left arm these days?”

Snape glared at him. “If you are referring to the Dark Mark, then hear this—I regret the day allowed myself to be polluted by…by Lord…Vol…Voldemort.” He blanched as he uttered the name for the first time in his life.

McGonagall and Lupin stared at Snape in complete shock, as did Nigel.

“This is an amazing development, Severus,” Lupin said. “You take a great risk by saying his name.”

“This is astonishing, Severus,” McGonagall said, reeling from the shock. “I have never heard anyone but Albus and Harry dare to say his name. All I can imagine is that something terrible must have happened.”

“If I didn’t have complete faith in Mr. Chaucer here, I would not be so able to take such a risk. He has reaffirmed me in the decision I made last year.”

“Which decision?” Lupin asked. “Not…”

“No, Lupin, not that one.” Snape scowled. “My life became rather busy during the months after Albus’ death…”

“You mean his murder,” Lupin snarled.

Snape sniffed haughtily. “His sacrifice, Lupin, not his murder.”

“According to you.”

“Go on, Severus,” McGonagall said, gesturing at Lupin to be quiet. Lupin looked on skeptically.

“I passed the summer rather quietly, as it happened,” Snape began. “Lord…Volde…mort ordered all of us to lie low for a while, to disappear until he summoned us again. So, I returned to Spinner’s End alone and waited. He summoned us back at the end of July, right before your birthday, Nigel.”

“Did you see Draco at all?” Nigel asked.

“I saw no one but an old family friend of my mother’s. I heard of Lucius’ release from Azkaban, of course, which troubled me very much. But I saw no one from our world. Upon my return to…his side, after he summoned us, he had occasion to take me aside, to tell me a little story about his school days. He lamented that I had done what I did. He was absolutely furious, in fact.”

“You mean he wished Malfoy to have done it?” Lupin asked.

“Yes. He accused me of interfering with his plans, which of course, was true. And so he decided to punish me. The story he told me…” Snape broke off for a moment, gathering his courage. “The story he told me will haunt me for the rest of my days. You know how much he loved it here at Hogwarts, so much so that he wanted to come back and teach here. Albus wisely turned him down for the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, but that didn’t satisfy him. He wanted to have a presence here, even if…” Snape broke off again. He shook with rage and disgust.

“What is it, Severus?” McGonagall asked, sounding very much like Nigel’s mother just then. “Tell us what he said.”

Snape took a deep breath before he went on. “He stalked the school, stalked the students, looked for a mark, a victim he could use to get his way. And then he found her. He kidnapped her, raped her and left her at the gates of the school like the bastard he is, knowing exactly what he had done to her!”

Nigel suddenly understood. “You’re talking about…”

“My mother,” Snape confessed.

“My gods, Severus,” Lupin murmured.

“She was just sixteen. She had no idea he had impregnated her, but by the summer’s end when it was apparent, there was no way she could return to Hogwarts. The family threw her out, and she ended up working in a muggle factory, which is where she met my…where she met her husband.”

“But what does this mean?” Nigel asked.

“You mean, am I cursed?” Snape asked. “Perhaps. But perhaps not. He told me because he wanted to isolate me, to ensure my loyalty to him, to prevent me from straying, from having my own mind. A son’s debt to his father.”

“You strayed from him long ago, didn’t you?” Nigel asked.

“I did. I was never free to admit that, of course. Only Albus knew my full story. What Lord…Voldemort didn’t realise was that I had become such an expert Occlumens that I could even hide my contempt for him as a father. I had practiced hiding my contempt for him as a master for years.”

“What a horrible revelation,” Nigel said sadly. “I can’t imagine how this must have hurt you.”

“I’m so sorry, Severus,” Lupin said. “This is truly lamentable for you.”

“There was just no way I could stay at his side any longer,” Snape continued. “I was ill for two entire weeks after he told me, so ill I had to go away from him. No longer could I look at him, breathe the same air as him, look at his followers in the face without abhorrence.”

“Why didn’t you come straight here?” McGonagall asked. “I would have understood, Severus. I would have helped you.”

“I was in no condition to see anyone, Minerva,” he confessed. “I was far too ill and in shock. And I needed a new face.” He tapped his bearded cheek and forced a wan smile. “I returned to Spinner’s End and visited my mother’s friend. He’s a squib, so he knows all about our world. I told him my story and that I needed his help to conceal my identity for a while. When I mentioned brewing Polyjuice Potion, his response was immediate. I asked him for a few hairs, and he responded by shaving his entire head for me.”

“Wow,” Nigel said. “That was nice.”

“He remembered my mother well, and he was outraged at how horribly she had been treated by Lord Voldemort. He said he would be glad to shave his head again for me if I needed it. He’s a good man. I told him I didn’t think that would be necessary. As you can see, he has quite a lot of hair as it is.”

“Is his name Austin Harpe?” Lupin asked.

“I made that up. His true name is known only to me in the wizarding world. I shall keep it that way, of course.”

Nigel sat, partly grieving, but partly lost in deep thought. “Oh my gods,” he said quietly. “I just thought of something.”

“What is it, Mr. Chaucer?” McGonagall asked.

“We don’t need Blaise at all,” he replied. “Just a few of his hairs to brew…”

“…Polyjuice Potion,” Snape echoed.


	14. Poking the Navel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The four of them headed out toward the painting, walking silently as if in a formal procession to a sacred event. McGonagall led the way, followed close by Nigel, then by Lupin, with Snape, still looking like Austin Harpe, bringing up the rear. As they stood before the painting, Nigel took a deep breath, preparing himself for the unknown journey ahead. He took out his wand and poked Eve in the navel, expecting a giggle and a helping hand._
> 
> _He didn’t expect a punch in the jaw from Adam._

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. Finally, the full moon had come and gone, making the coast clear for Nigel, with the face and body of Blaise Zabini, to travel through the secret passage and discover what was on the other side. Snape had given him a small phial of Polyjuice Potion, so that all Nigel had to do was add a few of Zabini’s hairs. Asking Zabini for the hairs seemed like a simple task, so long as he didn’t ask why Nigel needed them. He asked.

“So why do you need my hairs?” They sat in the Great Hall eating lunch. Crabbe and Goyle flanked Zabini, and Pansy sat at Nigel’s side, partly eating and partly nibbling Nigel’s earlobe. Zabini couldn’t have chosen a worse moment to ask such a question, mainly because Nigel had made the request as they walked together earlier to their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson.

“I’m brewing a potion for a friend, and I need the hair of a perfect human specimen to make the potion work right. You’re about as perfect as they come.” Nigel hoped flattery would get him everywhere. It worked.

“I was just curious, Nige,” Zabini said. “You can have all the hairs you want.”

Pansy giggled. “You should make him shave that beautiful head of his!”

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed at the thought of a bald Zabini.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Nigel said. “At least not yet.” He gave Pansy a quick kiss on the lips.

Sitting through his afternoon lessons proved to be excruciating to Nigel. He found it nearly impossible to focus on anything Professor Sprout said, his attention drawn instead to the luxurious raven curls that adorned Zabini’s head. Zabini’s hair was a little longer and curled rather than waved; it was much darker and more obedient to his whims than Nigel’s. Zabini’s hair always looked perfect, even just out of bed in the morning—Nigel had to work at it to get his own brunette waves to look presentable.

In a way, Nigel looked forward to borrowing Zabini’s face and body. Zabini was a little taller than Nigel, fit and strong and muscular and dark. He had the countenance of someone out of a fashion magazine, perfectly chiseled, musky scented, masculine and alluring. It wasn’t that Nigel wasn’t handsome, but there was just something about Blaise Zabini that transcended normal beauty. He had a certain presence about him that Nigel wasn’t quite sure could be captured in a bottle of Polyjuice Potion.

Back in the Slytherin boys’ dorm, Nigel sat on the countertop in the bathroom whilst Zabini readied himself to cut off a piece of his hair. The problem was which to choose. Zabini fretted and debated for a full ten minutes, continually asking Nigel how this one would be, as opposed to that one.

“I just need a few hairs, Blaise!” Nigel said impatiently. “Just shut your eyes and cut off a curl!”

Troubled by that statement, Zabini turned to Nigel, handing him the scissors. “You do it, Chaucer. I can’t decide.”

“You are such a prat, Zabini,” Nigel grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Nigel grabbed the scissors, took hold of a small part of his thick, luxurious hair and cut—Zabini winced a little, as if Nigel had cut into his skin.

“OK, it’s all over. No blood spilled. You can open your eyes now,” Nigel said in mock sympathy. He put the hair into a little bag and handed the scissors back to Zabini. “Thanks a lot, Blaise. This really means a lot to me.”

“You’re not going to get me into any trouble with this, are you? Mother always told me to be careful about giving any part of myself to another wizard or witch.”

“It’s perfectly safe, mate. I swear. Any trouble that might occur has nothing to do with you.” Nigel turned to go, but Zabini stopped him, grabbing him by the arm.

“It’s OK,” he said to Nigel. “I meant what I said before.”

Nigel patted Zabini’s arm. “I know you did. I won’t betray your trust, Blaise.”

* * * * *

Night fell and the weather grew colder and colder. Snow fell in heavy drifts all around Hogwarts, and Nigel could feel the deep chill in his bones. As he sat in Professor McGonagall’s office waiting for the Polyjuice Potion to be entirely ready for him, Nigel warmed his hands and feet by the roaring fire. Lupin watched carefully as Snape added a few of Zabini’s hairs to the potion and stirred carefully. He also added another substance, unfamiliar to anyone in the room.

“A little peppermint extract,” he said. “It doesn’t change the composition of the potion and it makes it much more palatable. Without it, Polyjuice Potion takes like reconstituted sick.”

Nigel made a face. “Gee, I’m so excited now,” he said sarcastically.

Snape poured the sticky grey potion into a crystal wine glass. It smelled partly of peppermint and partly of an elegant aftershave.

“Zabini smells good,” Lupin joked.

Nigel took the glass, but before he drank the contents, McGonagall stopped him.

“You don’t have to go through with this, Mr. Chaucer,” she said. “You may be entering into a very dangerous situation. Take care not to be seen by anyone in the room. If possible, remain inside the twin painting and only stay there long enough to discern where exactly you are.”

Nigel nodded. “Right. Well, cheers.” And with that, he plugged his nose and drank down the potion in a single gulp. Even with the peppermint, the stuff tasted truly horrible, even worse than his cousin Tony’s attempts at cookery. He gagged violently, making his eyes water and his nose run.

“How do you feel?” Lupin asked with trepidation.

Nigel couldn’t respond. He suddenly felt a strange, almost stomach-churning lurch in his body as his muscles shifted and his skin seemed to melt and loosen and tighten and rearrange itself. His face felt hot, as if it would burn off, but then a bitter chill tore through his entire frame, causing him to swoon for a quick moment. And then, he felt fine. His clothes felt a little tight in the neck, but loose in the waist. He looked down at his hands, which had become a smooth, rich bronze colour, rather than his usual pallid white.

“Wow,” McGonagall said in wonder, looking curiously at the figure of Blaise Zabini that stood before her.

Snape quickly poured the rest of the potion into a little flask and handed it to Nigel. “Put this in the pocket of your trousers. If you get stuck there, you’ll need to drink some more. But only in sips, not gulps. I don’t want you running out of the stuff.”

“Right,” Nigel said, pocketing the flask. “Well, shall we?”

The four of them headed out toward the painting, walking silently as if in a formal procession to a sacred event. McGonagall led the way, followed close by Nigel, then by Lupin, with Snape, still looking like Austin Harpe, bringing up the rear. As they stood before the painting, Nigel took a deep breath, preparing himself for the unknown journey ahead. He took out his wand and poked Eve in the navel, expecting a giggle and a helping hand.

He didn’t expect a punch in the jaw from Adam.

“Hey, buddy, leave my wife alone!” Adam bellowed at Nigel.

Snape scowled. “You’re supposed to poke HIM in the navel, you idiot,” he grumbled to Nigel.

Nigel winced as he rubbed his jaw. “I didn’t know a bloody painting could hit so hard!” he spat. Recollecting himself, Nigel tried again, this time poking Adam in the navel. Eve giggled this time, and offered Nigel her hand. “Well, here I go,” he said.

Nigel disappeared into the painting, leaving the rest of them to worry and wonder and hope.

* * * * *

Everything was black, cold, compressed, silent. Unsure which direction to go, or if there even was any other direction, Nigel walked forward, as quickly as he dared. He listened carefully for something, anything, but all that surrounded him was muffling, black stillness. Even the sound of his footsteps seemed remote, and Nigel began to wonder if he was touching ground at all, or if he had fallen into some unknown abyss. There was no time, no space, no feeling, no point of reference whatsoever. Nigel’s heart pounded in his chest as he pressed onward, with no idea whether he would ever surface anywhere, or if perhaps he was lost forever in the dark.

He couldn’t clock the time, but at some vague point, Nigel began to see something. Colours, shapes—trees, a rock, shrubbery, flowers. And two people. Two naked people, one male, the other female. Nigel’s heart skipped a beat in excitement. He had made it! But would the occupants of the other picture chuck him out, or would they allow him to conceal himself behind the tree or the rock?

Nigel approached carefully, having no idea how to speak to a painting, or even if he had to speak to it, to them. He softly cleared his throat. The woman turned around, her long auburn hair swirling in soft, feminine waves, forming a modest covering of her exquisite, womanly curves.

“Hello,” she whispered. “Who are you?”

“I’m from your twin,” Nigel replied. “Can you tell me where I am?”

She smiled. “The Garden of Eden, of course.”

“But where is your painting located? Are you in a house?”

The man turned to face Nigel. “Quiet, you two!” he said. “They’re coming!”

Nigel crouched behind the rock and peered out of the painting at the grand room beyond. The room was lush and elegant, the walls covered in rich tapestries, the dozens of shelves packed with books of all sizes and colours. In the centre of the room was a long wooden table, surrounded by thirteen chairs. The door opened with a clatter. Lucius Malfoy, in all his golden splendour, paraded in, followed by a beast of a person who looked half man, half animal. Where Lucius was all elegant sleekness, this man was entirely feral in his aspect. Nigel knew immediately who the man must be—Fenrir Greyback.

The two men sat at one end of the long table, steeped in a vigourous argument. Nigel listened, burning with curiosity.

“If we kill him outright, the Dark Lord will be satiated,” Greyback growled.

“The Dark Lord will wish to speak to him first, to give him one last chance to prove himself,” Lucius said.

“Don’t be foolish, Malfoy! Your son is lost to us! You have known that since December!”

“I prefer a direct order from the Dark Lord first. This is my only son, Greyback! I wish to give him a chance, even if he doesn’t deserve it!”

“But after what he said to you, you can’t think he’ll return!” Greyback pounded his fist on the table with a loud bang, making Nigel start with an audible gasp. He clapped his hand to his mouth and scrunched himself low behind the rock.

Lucius stopped suddenly, looking around for the source of the sound.

“Malfoy!” Greyback shouted. “You have to focus! I am going to find your boy if you don’t find him first, and I cannot guarantee his safety if I do!”

“You bastard, Greyback! You would betray my hospitality and interfere with the Dark Lord’s plans for Draco just to spill his blood? Leave it to me!”

Greyback snarled fiercely at Lucius. “You have no authority over me, Malfoy! You are barely in the Dark Lord’s good graces just now, and your truant son is destroying what’s left of your tarnished reputation! I promise to find him! Maybe I shall bring him to the Dark Lord.”

Lucius jumped to his feet, wand out, pointed at Greyback’s throat. Greyback eyed him cruelly and laughed.

“Go on and curse me, Malfoy. If you dare.”

Nigel felt like his heart was in his throat as he sat there, listening to their dispute. He wanted to run, but he thought if he stayed a little longer, he might be able to discern where Draco might be. Nigel pulled the flask out of his pocket and took a tiny sip.

Greyback brushed the wand away and grinned. “So, does Narcissa know about this? Shall I tell her it was your fault her precious little boy ran away like a coward?”

“It was YOUR fault!” Lucius hissed.

“You called me here for the express purpose of sending Draco on that mission with me! Of course his escape is your fault! Do you think your lovely wife worries about her precious baby, alone out there in the dark with no mommy to tuck him in at night?” Greyback laughed tauntingly. “You Malfoys make me sick!” he said with disgust.

“If you recall,” Lucius said dangerously, “you came here of your own accord. In fact, I’d say you imposed yourself here!”

“Then get rid of me,” Greyback said haughtily. “Go on, chuck me out!”

Lucius eyed him pompously. “I allow you to stay as a sign of loyalty to the Dark Lord, not out of any love or fear of you. And what’s more, Greyback, you will leave my family matters to ME. I shall not brook any more interference from you. Ferreting out Draco and bringing him back is a delicate operation, best left to his father, who knows him best. I have heard rumours of his whereabouts from the mother of a friend of his, and I shall follow that lead and find him—without aid from you.”

That was enough for Nigel. He crawled soundlessly away from his hiding place and back into the dark. Once safely out of the light and back in the black tunnel, Nigel stood up and ran, not caring that he couldn’t see in front of him, not taking anything into consideration other than getting away from that horrible scene. After what seemed an eternity of running nowhere, Nigel again caught sight of colours, then shapes, then the Garden of Eden and Adam and Eve again. He leapt out of the picture, landing shakily and stumbling forward as Lupin and Snape rushed to catch him.

Nigel’s face turned stark white as he felt his body and face change again, back to himself. He shuddered as his skin turned from hot to cold to liquid to solid in a rush of sensations. He dropped to his knees and gagged. Lupin and Snape pulled a very shaky Nigel to his feet and carefully escorted him back to McGonagall’s office. Inside, they set him into a comfortable chair by the fire. Snape elevated Nigel’s feet and pulled off his shoes and socks so he could massage the colour back into Nigel’s toes. Nigel laid his head back and sighed.

McGonagall handed Nigel a small glass of sherry, which Nigel drank down quickly. A little too quickly. His head became a little dizzy, but the sherry made him feel warm and comfortable.

“What happened?” McGonagall asked finally. “Where did you end up?”

Nigel told them everything, from the location of the painting to every detail of the conversation he had just heard.

“We have to find Draco before they do,” Snape said. “I’ll do it.”

“Do you have any idea where he might be?” Lupin asked.

“I don’t think you’ll need to go anywhere, Professor Snape,” Nigel said. “Chances are Draco will come here. Remember, he told me he frequents the Prefects’ bathroom.”

McGonagall frowned. “That’s a heavy chance to take, Chaucer. What if they find him before he makes his next visit?”

“Minerva’s right,” Snape said. “But Chaucer, I think you should ask Zabini where Draco is. I have a feeling he knows. They were very close when Draco lived here.”

“As in…” Lupin started.

Snape shrugged. “There was much gossip at one time, but no proof.”

“Did Pansy know?” Nigel asked.

“I doubt it would have made a difference to Miss Parkinson,” Snape replied. “She’s always been very tolerant of Mr. Malfoy’s extracurricular activities. She even put up with you last year.”

“That was entirely innocent!” Nigel barked.

“She doesn’t know that,” Snape replied.

“You don’t know what she thinks! A lot of time has passed since then!”

“Excuse me! I think we’re losing focus here,” Lupin interjected.

“Quite so,” Snape conceded.

“We have to find Draco,” Nigel said. “They’ll kill him.”

* * * * *

The next morning in the Great Hall, Nigel and Zabini sat down to breakfast with the usual gang of Slytherins. As he ate his bacon and eggs, Nigel watched Zabini carefully, his mind filled with all sorts of questions, each one more inappropriate than the first. The rumour burned in his mind, and he wondered whether the gossip was accurate. But Nigel rebuked himself. It was none of his business. Still, he remained curious. After breakfast, the two of them walked to Transfiguration, neither saying a word. Finally, Zabini broke the silence.

“You’re quiet this morning,” he said lightly. “What’s going on?”

“Let’s skive off Transfiguration today, yeah?”

Zabini frowned. “What’s up?”

“I need to ask you about…Malfoy.” Nigel whispered Draco’s name.

“What about him?”

“Not here,” Nigel said, pulling Zabini by the arm, steering him out toward an empty corridor. Zabini looked troubled.

“Have you heard anything?” he asked. “Is he OK?”

“That’s what I was going to ask you. If you know where he is, Blaise, you’ve got to tell me. His life is in danger.”

“I made a promise to him…” Zabini started.

“You need to forget about that! You can’t protect him any more! Fenrir Greyback is after him, and he intends to kill him on the spot!”

Zabini looked appalled. “How do you know this?”

“Let’s just say I have it on good authority. Please, Blaise, you must tell me! I know what he means to you.”

Zabini gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

Nigel suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. “Nothing. Just rumours. It’s stupid. Forget it.” He blushed red hot, realizing he had just said something he couldn’t take back. He felt petty and devious.

Zabini looked horribly offended, as if Nigel had just smacked him in the face. “That rumour is a LIE! Who told you this?” But without waiting for an answer, Zabini raged on. “Remember when you and Draco were caught out of bounds last year? Remember all the talk and gossip afterward? Remember how you felt to have everyone talking about you like that, especially when you knew that you were innocent of anything?”

Nigel nodded. He had not forgotten the embarrassment he felt that morning. “Then why would…”

Zabini rolled his eyes and half smiled. “You know how Draco is, with people he really likes. He gets all, sort of hands-on, don’t you think? Touching and grabbing, as if you were some sort of pet or toy. It’s just how he is. He doesn’t mean anything by it other than true affection.”

Nigel had to admit that Zabini had a point.

Zabini continued. “Not too many people like him. You and I might be the only people who actually do, except his mother, of course. Draco knows that, naturally. He knows very well that people like Crabbe and Goyle and even Pansy only hang around him for the sake of power. But you and I are different, and so he treats us differently, more intimately, like real friends.”

“Yeah, but Draco never made a pass at me,” Nigel insisted.

“Nor did he to me! One day, a couple of years ago, before you were here, my mother sent me an owl about her latest husband’s demise—I had really liked that husband, and when he died, I got really upset. Draco saw how sad I was and he just sat with me and let me talk. He even reached out to me, gave me hug, if you can believe it.”

“I can.”

“Anyway, that was when a few of the guys came in. There we were, sitting on my bed, wrapped in this hug. Of course they got the wrong idea! But it was totally innocent! I swear!”

“I believe you, Blaise. But this is all the more reason why you need to help me figure out where he might be. His life depends on it!”

“Look, I’m not totally sure. The last time I saw him was a while ago, in December. He came to see me where we were staying. He tracked me down, the git! Anyway, he was on the run, completely afraid for his life. I offered to let him stay at our summer home in Sorrento, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Where did he say he was heading?”

“I know he didn’t want to get too far from Hogwarts. He said he was searching for a place free from Death Eaters, which isn’t so easy any more. After Lucius walked out of Azkaban, he spent a lot of time recruiting for the Dark Lord. Death Eaters are everywhere!”

Nigel puzzled. “I hadn’t realised how pervasive they’d become.”

Zabini’s face relaxed a bit. “Mum told me. She’s up on all that stuff.”

“Do they know where Potter is?”

“All I know is that Bellatrix Lestrange is charged with tracking him down. The last Mum heard, he was in Cornwall, but that was a while ago.”

Nigel smiled. “I really appreciate this, Blaise. Your information could save lives. And I’m sorry for gossiping. It was unforgivable.”

Zabini looked off at a crowd of Fourth Years made their way toward the paddock. “You know, Nigel, there is a possibility that Draco would want to hide in plain view.”

Nigel pondered. “Like in London?”

“It’s a good guess.”

“But surely not in Diagon Alley?”

“I don’t think he’d be that stupid. That’s the first place his father will go. His father always did underestimate Draco’s abilities.”

“London’s a big place,” Nigel mused. “He could be anywhere.”


	15. A Calculated Risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That night, after a long talk and much plotting with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks, Nigel headed out toward Hyde Park, feeling hopeful that he would find Draco before Lucius did. Traces of magical activity had been tracked there, and the chances were that someone desperate and in hiding might have left those traces. Furthermore, there had been reports of Death Eater sightings in and around Hyde Park for the last two days. Some thought they had seen Fenrir Greyback, and one witch swore she saw the white blond hair of Lucius Malfoy. As Nigel walked through the park, he kept his wand at the ready, waiting for the least movement or potential jinx. Nothing so far. He kept walking, as soundlessly and inconspicuously as he could manage. What was that?_

London never looked so huge. Normally when Nigel went down to London for a visit with his cousin Tony and his family, he knew exactly where he was going, which Tube stops to find, where Harrod’s was and how to get to Trafalgar Square. But how to find a seventeen year old blond wizard who doesn’t want to be found? Every street he passed looked massive and confounding to Nigel now, every alley a possible hideout, every building a possible shelter. The people in the street jostled and bumped as they whisked by.

After a couple of fruitless hours searching and plotting, Nigel decided to call in the experts—Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt. He had met the two Aurors the previous year when Professor McGonagall took him to Grimmuald Place, and so it was back to that strange house that Nigel headed. But when he got to the street, he couldn’t find Number 12. After twenty minutes of tromping up and down and back and forth, even going so far as to peer into people’s windows to see if any wizards were there, Nigel was ready to give up.

As Nigel stood rather frustrated and helpless in the centre of the pavement, a little piece of purple paper fluttered over his head and cascaded softly down, right into his hands. Nigel unfolded the paper and read the inscription: 

“Right behind you, idiot.”

Nigel whipped around fast, only to see a house, a whole house suddenly emerge from nowhere, tall and white and freshly landscaped, as if it had been the entire time only Nigel was too thick to see it. But it couldn’t have been there, Nigel thought. He had looked everywhere. Oh well. Up the garden path he went, and onward into the open door. Inside, the house looked like it had been completely renovated. The walls were a soft buttery colour, and the hardwood floors looked freshly stained and polished. Nigel made his way into the main sitting room, where a grinning, very healthy Harry Potter greeted him enthusiastically.

“Nigel! Great to see you!” He gave Nigel a warm embrace. “What are you doing in London? I heard you found the Horcrux!”

“We did, or so we think. We’re hoping you can confirm it for us.”

Harry led him to the kitchen, where they sat at the round, glass table and had tea and sandwiches.

“The big problem we’re having,” Nigel said, “is getting you into the castle. I don’t suppose you’ve found your Invisibility Cloak yet? I heard Bellatrix Lestrange is on your arse.”

Harry shook his head. He swallowed a mouthful of egg sandwich. “The place where I left it is strongly guarded by Death Eaters. The idiots don’t even know it’s there, but I still can’t sneak in to get it.”

“Well, the gates to the school are equally guarded, so it’s not like we can even rush you by under cover. But, there is a bit of good news. We have found a surefire passage into the school…”

“Great!” Harry exclaimed. “Where is it?”

Nigel’s face fell. “Well, that’s the problem.”

“Problem?” Harry asked, a little nervous.

“See, you’ll be passing between paintings, which is pretty easy as it turns out. The problem is where the twin painting is.

“And where is that?”

“Er…well…Malfoy Manor.”

Harry looked horrified. “What?” he shouted. “That’s madness! I can’t go in there!”

“Of course you can, but you’re going to need help getting in.” Nigel served himself a second sandwich and refilled his teacup.

“Well OBVIOUSLY! And who’s going to do that?”

Nigel cleared his throat. “Um…well…I’m hoping that Draco Malfoy…” Before Harry could protest, Nigel went on. “You’re going to have to trust me on this.”

“Draco Malfoy would sooner kill me!”

“He won’t kill you. He broke with his father and with the Dark Lord, too.”

Harry eyed him suspiciously. “Are you sure about that? Don’t be so quick to trust him. He has a way of getting you to believe all sorts of things.”

“I know you have a hard time trusting him…”

Harry laughed. “Hard time? That’s the understatement of the year!”

“Please, Harry. Please trust me on this. We’re all working very hard on setting this up for you. The last time I saw Draco, he sort of did something that confirmed to me that he’s on our side.”

“Did he say it in so many words?”

“I don’t know if I would have believed him if he had done that. But he opened his mind to me, literally, let me use Legilimency on him to retrieve some very private thoughts. I doubt he would have let me in if he weren’t on our side.”

“What sort of things did he let you see?”

“A sort of cabal, a meeting of Death Eaters. They had this list of names of people marked for death. Both of us were on the list.”

“You? Why you?”

“Draco said it was because he and I are friends. Apparently I’m not good enough for him, according to his father.” He took a bite of his sandwich. “I think Lucius blames me for Draco’s coming over to our side.”

“Why would he blame you?”

“We were close friends last year. I did all I could to talk him out of killing Dumbledore. I wish I had done more. Draco’s name is on the list, too.”

“Lucius wants to kill his own precious son?” Harry pushed his plate away, no longer hungry. “That’s horrible.”

“I don’t know that he wants to, but he has to. Dark Lord’s orders and all. Draco’s been on the run for a couple of months now. I suppose you heard.”

“I haven’t heard a thing. I’ve been on the run myself, so I’m pretty out of touch. I haven’t even gotten the Daily Prophet in weeks.”

“Hermione would be disappointed.”

Harry chuckled at the thought. “How is she? We’ve kept in touch, but I’ve sort of fallen off the edge of the planet these days. How is she?”

“Stressed out, of course. N.E.W.T’s coming up soon, so she’s almost unbearable.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You should have seen her before O.W.L’s! Ron and I were about ready to strangle her at times!”

“She’s handling her Head Girl duties really well, though.”

“I suppose she was the one who found the Horcrux.”

Nigel took a long drink of his tea. “Actually, I did. Problem is that the Dark Lord put a protective charm on it so that it can’t be moved. Our hope is that your use of Parseltongue will remove the charm.”

“Listen, Nigel, there has to be another way of getting me into Hogwarts. I could even fly my broom there!”

Nigel shook his head no. “Way too dangerous. The Death Eaters could easily chase you, shoot you down, knock you off your broom. No way. This is too important.”

“I know it’s important, Nigel! I’m just not too excited about letting Draco Malfoy guide me past Death Eaters in his father’s house!”

“I know you’re nervous about this, Harry. We all are. But this is a sure path! I tried it myself! I know it will work. But…”

“But?”

“We have to find Draco. We can’t do this plan without him.”

“Well don’t ask me where he is. I have no idea!”

“Are you in touch with Kingsley and Tonks?”

“They drop in and out.”

“I need to see them, ask for their help in finding Draco.”

“Did you go to the Ministry?”

“No. I came straight here. I’m not too thrilled with the idea of going to the Ministry. Too much suspicion.”

Harry sat back and rubbed his stomach. “Well, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. Tonks said she’d be by later, after supper.”

That didn’t sit well with Nigel. “I’m afraid Draco will be gone or dead by supper. Greyback’s after him.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much. Draco has a talent for survival.”

* * * * *

That night, after a long talk and much plotting with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks, Nigel headed out toward Hyde Park, feeling hopeful that he would find Draco before Lucius did. Traces of magical activity had been tracked there, and the chances were that someone desperate and in hiding might have left those traces. Furthermore, there had been reports of Death Eater sightings in and around Hyde Park for the last two days. Some thought they had seen Fenrir Greyback, and one witch swore she saw the white blond hair of Lucius Malfoy. As Nigel walked through the park, he kept his wand at the ready, waiting for the least movement or potential jinx. Nothing so far. He kept walking, as soundlessly and inconspicuously as he could manage. What was that? A voice? Male? No, nothing—a pair of muggles riding bicycles down a path.

Nigel continued on in the dark, straining his eyes a bit to see where he was going. Step by step he went. A snap, a crushed twig. Nigel stopped in his tracks, heart pounding. He sensed…a flash of light sent Nigel crashing to his knees as a fired jinx barely missed the back of his head. He rolled to one side, covering himself in the shrubbery. Quickly, he disapparated, apparating on the other side of the path. A quick view of a tall man in black robes…the man pointed a wand right at Nigel. Out of sheer instinct, Nigel thrust his hand forward, sending the man flying backward so violently that he smashed into a tree and fell to the ground in a heap. Nigel rushed forward to see who it was.

His guess was right. It was a Death Eater. He stood upright, all his senses listening and feeling his surroundings. Another person approached from behind. Nigel turned around, but not quite fast enough.

“Expelliarmus!” a gruff male voice cried out. A violent shaft of light pounded Nigel in the stomach, catapulting him backward, his wand flying out of his hand, out of sight. He landed hard on his back with a grunt. The impact dazed him for a moment as he gasped for breath. But Nigel quickly recovered his senses and again, disapparated, quickly apparating at one end of the path. He pointed a finger at the hooded figure before him so that he was lifted off his feet and slammed facefirst into a tree. The figure crumpled unconscious to the soft grass. Nigel ran forward to see who it was. As he ran, he reached out his hand—his wand rushed obediently to him.

Again he heard footsteps coming hard and fast from the shadows. This time, Nigel stood ready. “Protego!” he thought. And in his next breath he shouted “Stupefy!” at the hooded figure who rushed toward him. The figure spun wildly off his feet and crashed to the ground with a loud thud, some ten yards away. Nigel caught a glimpse of long, white blond hair. He rushed forward to see who it was. He guessed correctly—Lucius Malfoy lay unconscious, a trickle of blood coming from his mouth. Nigel found Lucius’ wand stuck in a shrub a few feet away, and he pocketed it. Nigel looked back at Lucius, still prostrate and dazed. He moved his hand as if he were slapping Lucius, four times—but then iron manacles appeared, cuffing Lucius’ hands and feet to the ground.

Draco had to be near. Nigel could feel it through magic, through everything in him.

“Draco!” Nigel called out. He looked around frantically, desperate to find any sight of his friend. “Draco!” he called again. Nothing. No response.

But then, red sparks, just along the next path. Nigel then rushed toward the red sparks, unsure what or who to find. It could be Draco, or it could be…

Fenrir Greyback.

“Oh shit,” Nigel murmured, filled with dread.

The sight before him was almost too horrible to bear. Greyback stood over a trembling and bloodied Draco Malfoy, ready to close in on him for the kill. Nigel steeled himself and decided to take a calculated risk.

Again, he disapparated, apparating at Draco’s side. Greyback was within mere inches of his prey. Draco’s bruised body was paralysed with fear, sweat pouring down his face and neck, soaking his collar. With all his strength, Nigel roughly pulled Draco to himself and just as quickly, with Draco in his arms, disapparated again, never feeling the werewolf grazing his arm with his claw-like nails. They apparated at the corner of Grimmauld Place.

Nigel landed on his feet, but Draco did not. He collapsed on his hands and knees, groaning mournfully in agony. Nigel tried to pull him to his feet, but Draco wouldn’t move.

“No,” he said, “let me die here.” He tried to lie down in the middle of the street.

At that, Nigel pulled him up, letting the whole weight of Draco’s body lean against him.

“Come on, mate,” Nigel said. “Let’s go.”

Slowly, carefully, he guided Draco toward Number 12.

“I’m sorry, Chaucer,” Draco moaned. “Why are you always the one dragging me home?”

“Pity, of course,” Nigel quipped.

“I’m sorry,” Draco repeated. “Hey, you’re bleeding. Your arm.”

“It’s just a scratch,” Nigel said, focusing his mind on getting Draco out of sight.

They were met at the door of Number 12 by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Molly Weasley, who immediately escorted Draco to the couch in the sitting room. She urged him to lie down and relax. They were soon joined by Alastor Moody, Tonks, Bill Weasley…and Severus Snape, looking not as Austin Harpe but as himself. Nigel couldn’t believe his eyes. It felt so good to see him as himself, especially when he needed him so much at that moment.

Kingsley examined Draco, noting the bruises and burns on his body. Draco’s face was cut and bruised and he was still bleeding from his nose.

“What happened to you, son?” he asked. “Cruciatus?”

Draco nodded. “Three times,” he said faintly. “I tried to fire back, but there were too many of them. And then Greyback came. If Nigel hadn’t shown up, they would have killed me on the spot. But his approach distracted them and then I tried to run for it. But then Greyback caught up with me. I shot a body-binding curse at him, but it was like he was immune to it!”

“Who else was with them?” Kingsley asked.

“Oh Kingsley,” Molly interrupted. “Let’s give the poor boy a chance to rest first. Severus, perhaps you could brew him a restorative?”

Snape nodded and motioned for Nigel to come to the kitchen, stopping suddenly at the sight of Nigel’s blood-stained and torn sleeve.

“What’s this, Chaucer?” he asked, examining Nigel’s wound. “How did this happen?”

“Oh my goodness!” Molly exclaimed. “You’re hurt!”

Nigel was shocked to see just how serious the gash on his arm was. Snape waved his wand over it slowly, making the cut prickle and heat up. The bleeding stopped, but the cut didn’t heal right away.

“It must have happened when I fell,” he surmised. But that didn’t sound right. He landed on his back, not on his arm. His heart filled with dread as he suddenly remembered Greyback reaching for Draco…for him. Nigel blanched. “Oh my gods,” he murmured. “Greyback…”

Moody rushed over and grabbed Nigel’s arm, making Nigel wince with pain. “Did he bite you, boy?”

“It was a scratch. He must have gotten me just as I grabbed Malfoy.”

“Was he transformed?” Moody asked gruffly.

“No, I don’t think so. I mean, he didn’t look like he was.”

“Was he alone?” Moody asked.

“No. There were at least three others with him,” Nigel said. “I got two of them. One of them was Lucius Malfoy. The others I didn’t know.”

“What do you mean you got them?” Draco asked.

“I used a stunning spell on your father. He’s out cold but he’ll be OK.”

Draco scowled. “Too bad.”

Molly raised her eyebrows.

“Come with me, Chaucer,” Snape said. “We’ll brew something for you and for Mr. Malfoy here.” Together, the two potions masters disappeared into the kitchen. Snape opened a pantry in the corner of the kitchen and showed Nigel the contents. “So, what shall we do?”

“Is this is test?” Nigel quipped.

“Of course,” Snape said coolly. “You were the one who wanted extra lessons. Here’s the perfect chance. Brew something and save your friend’s health and you from lycanthropy.”

“Lycanthropy!” Nigel shouted. “He didn’t bite me!”

“I’m just kidding, Nigel. Really!”

“Sorry, sir. I’m not used to you as a kidder. Maybe that whole Austin Harpe disguise…”

“Shut up about that around here!” Snape hissed at him angrily. “I told you not to say anything!”

“I’m sorry! I thought they knew!”

“They don’t, and I have no intention of telling them. Only you, Minerva and Lupin know about this.”

Nigel pulled out a few ingredients and lit a fire under the cauldron on the cooker. The potion quickly took shape, first becoming a mint green and smelling of pine. But after ten minutes and a few more ingredients, the potion darkened and thinned out into a dark green, translucent fluid which now smelled a little like gardenias. Snape stood by and watched approvingly, now unable to mask the grin on his face.

“That was truly beautiful, Nigel,” he said. He pulled out a large mug from the cabinet. Nigel filled it with the fluid. “Better than my own.”

“Shall we, sir?” he said, hoisting the mug.

The moment Nigel’s potion touched Draco’s lips, the colour returned to Draco’s face and the bruises on his face lightened considerably.

“Sip it slowly,” Nigel said. “It should take you an hour to drink down this whole mug. Not a minute less.”

“You taught him very well, Severus,” Bill said to Snape.

“It’s all in the family,” Snape said with great satisfaction.

“You’re related?” Tonks said in surprise. “I had no idea! How wonderful!”

“How about that cut, boy?” Moody said. “That needs looking at. You should go to St. Mungo’s.”

“He can’t go to St. Mungo’s, Alestor!” Molly said shrilly. “He’s just battled a pack of Death Eaters!”

“Allow me,” Snape said, returning to the kitchen. He returned about twenty minutes later with a greyish paste that smelled like shoe leather. “It’s not so fragrant, but very effective on this sort of thing. Come on, Chaucer, off with the shirt.”

Draco suppressed a snigger. Nigel rolled his eyes and removed his shirt so Snape could apply the paste to his arm. Molly and Tonks both gasped at the sight of the terrible scars on Nigel’s body. Harry looked at them with disbelief. Nigel flinched from the unexpected chill of the ice cold paste.

“It’s cold,” Snape said.

“Yeah, no kidding!” Nigel said. He shivered.

“You’re going to have to sit still for about two hours. Why don’t you sit near the fire so you don’t freeze?”

As Nigel moved to a comfortable chair by the fire, he saw the horror in their faces, and he knew exactly what they were looking at. He thought about saying something brave, but quickly changed his mind. Molly filled a glass with mead and handed it to Nigel, mussing his hair a bit as he took it from her with gratitude.

“You can ask if you want,” he said. “I know they’re kind of a shock.”

“I think you’re wonderful,” Molly said, kissing him on the forehead.

“Well, I hate to interrupt this love-fest,” Moody said impatiently, “but we still have the issue of getting Potter here into Hogwarts!”

“Just so,” Snape said. “This is where we need your assistance, Mr. Malfoy.”

“What do you mean?” Draco said, half sitting up.

“Look, mate,” Nigel began, “what we have in mind is going to be really difficult, but it’s the only way. There’s a way into Hogwarts, but you have to get them there.”

“What’s all this?” Draco asked, troubled and bewildered.

“See, there’s this picture, a painting in fact,” Nigel explained. “You enter it and end up exiting from a twin on the other side, Hogwarts, in fact.”

“But?” Draco asked suspiciously.

“The twin is…it’s in Malfoy Manor.”

“Oh no, no way!” Draco said adamantly. “There is no way I’m going back there! I can’t! They want to kill me!”

“There has to be a way for you to get in there unseen,” Tonks said. “I mean, aren’t they all away looking for you here in London?”

“Exactly!” Nigel said.

Draco snorted. “My father wants to kill me! Doesn’t that mean anything to you people? Plus they’re after Potter here, not to mention you, Professor Snape, and the great Nigel Chaucer! My going back there is like signing my own death sentence!”

“But this is so assured!” Nigel insisted.

“NO!” Draco insisted back. “I won’t do it! Forget it! I just can’t!”

Moody was furious. “This is no time for selfish cowardice, Malfoy!” he growled.

“Wait a second!” Nigel shouted. “Draco is no coward! He is in as much danger as any of us! The Dark Lord has him marked for death as well!”

“Look,” Draco started. He sighed heavily, dramatically. “There is one thing I can do. It’s not something I want, but it’s better than what you lot have planned for me. I can’t face my father! I can’t! But there is another way.”

“Hang on, Draco,” Nigel said. “I don’t want you to violate your ethics!”

Moody snorted. “Ethics? A Malfoy with ethics?”

Draco ignored the comment. “I have a way of getting Potter into the school.”

“Draco!” Nigel snapped. “Don’t! You shouldn’t!”

“I won’t give him the incantation, Chaucer,” Draco said. “But it’s a hell of a lot safer than all this cloak-and-wand stuff you’re planning!”

“This is a really bad idea…” Nigel started.

But Draco cut across him. “No, Chaucer, it’s a perfect idea. I can’t explain how, but I can apparate inside Hogwarts. I won’t tell you the incantation, but I’ll take Potter…Harry. Just tell me where you want us to apparate, and it’s done.”

“How can you do this, Malfoy?” Kingsley demanded.

“Like I said, I can’t tell you that, sir. I won’t. I won’t tell anyone, including the Dark Lord. I’ve already been over this with Chaucer. But I will use it to help all of you. It’s the least I can do after all I did last year.”

“But where will you go after that, Draco?” Nigel asked desperately.

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco replied. “But we need to end this war.”

Molly shed a tear. “You’re so brave, dear!”

“Mum!” Bill said, a touch embarrassed. “He’s doing what any of us would do. But how did you figure it out, Malfoy? How did you manage to apparate into Hogwarts?”

“It’s a long story,” Draco said. “When I was a boy, Father said I had a knack for conjuring spells. When I was only nine, I could conjure things you can’t imagine. Conjuring a way into Hogwarts was no big deal.”

“I’m not so sure about this,” Harry said tentatively.

Draco got to his feet, swooning for a moment before he got his bearings. “You think I’m going to apparate you to the Dark Lord, Potter? The Dark Lord wants me dead! Weren’t you paying attention?”

“Handing me over to him might get you back in his good graces, don’t you think, Malfoy?” Harry said acerbically.

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry. “You’ll never change, will you Potter? You’re so self-righteous that you won’t allow even the worst person in the world to mend his ways, will you? You make me sick!”

Harry looked affronted by the remark. He blushed slightly. “I don’t think you’re the worst person in the world,” he said.

Draco didn’t reply. He sat back down on the couch and drank more of Nigel’s potion. His bruises had disappeared entirely, and the cuts on his face and body had quickly begun to heal. Draco mussed his hair and folded his arms defiantly.

“It’s just,” Harry started, “I mean, after all this time, after so much hostility over the years, it’s just a bit of a stretch for me to trust you.”

“Whatever,” Draco said dismissively. “Find your own way, then.”

“Harry,” Kingsley said, “you really do need to trust Draco in this. If you can’t trust him, at trust my judgement in this. He won’t betray you, will you, Draco?”

“I made my offer,” Draco replied coolly. “I’ll honour it if Potter’s up for it. But like I said, I refuse to return to Malfoy Manor ever again, so long as it’s my father’s house.”

“Nigel,” Harry asked, “what do you think?”

Nigel shrugged. “You know how I feel, Harry. Why ask me?”

“I trust you more than anyone. I trust what you say.”

“Alright, then,” Nigel replied, a little uneasy, “I think you should let Draco take you to Hogwarts.”


	16. Into the Cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Draco Malfoy really be trusted?

“Alright, then,” Harry said. He turned to Draco and put out his hand. “Look, Malfoy…Draco…maybe it’s time for us to set aside our old animosities and call a truce. What do you say to that?”

Draco hesitated for a moment. He looked away for a moment, trying to compose himself as a surge of emotion tore through him just then. Finally, he nodded and shook Harry’s hand firmly. “Truce,” he said.

Molly sniffled loudly. “That was so beautiful!” she wailed. “Nigel, how do you do it, dear? How do you bring people together like this? You truly are a great wizard! My husband was right about you!”

Nigel felt hot behind the ears.

“What does Arthur say about him, Molly?” Moody asked curiously.

“He’s heard rumblings in the Ministry and around London that people are really looking to Nigel for our future!”

“If you are as wise as I believe you are, Molly,” Snape said, “then you will secure your loyalties with Mr. Chaucer, then, just as you did with Albus.”

Moody snorted with mirth, but Kingsley did not.

“I agree with you, Severus,” Kingsley said. “I shall do the same thing.”

“He’s seventeen!” Moody barked.

“So is Harry,” Tonks piped up. “I’ll follow Kingsley’s lead.”

“I will, too,” Molly said.

“Me, too,” Harry said.

“So will I,” Draco said. Then he grinned. “No pressure, Chaucer!”

Nigel rolled his eyes, unsuccessfully trying to mask his look of uneasiness. “You people are all mad!” he said. “Mr. Moody is quite correct! I’m a student, not a politician!”

Moody eyed him carefully. “That fact is enough for me!” he said, patting Nigel roughly on the shoulder.

“OK, well not to change the subject or anything,” Nigel said, trying desperately to change the subject, “but shouldn’t we be getting Harry and Draco out of here?”

“Can you apparate into the building, or just the grounds?” Harry asked Draco.

“The building. I sometimes apparate into the Prefects’ bathroom. Just ask Chaucer here.”

He and Nigel laughed.

“So where’s the best place for us to end up?” Harry asked.

“Chaucer?” Draco said.

“Well, the Horcrux, or what we think is the Horcrux, is in the Trophy Room.”

“But we can’t just apparate into the Trophy Room!” Draco protested. “What if we’re seen? I don’t think that’s such a great idea.”

“How about the Prefects’ bathroom?” Harry suggested.

“Hoping no one is in there starkers again!” Nigel said. “Of course, if you go in there at a really late hour, your chances are good.” He paused for a moment to think. “OK, how about this. I’ll apparate back to the gates of the school—someone will let me in, Hagrid maybe—and then, tomorrow at two in the morning, I’ll go to the Prefects’ bathroom and lock myself in. You two apparate into the bathroom at half past two. Then we’ll sort of take it from there. Until then, I suggest you figure out a plan of action. I’ll speak to Professor McGonagall and Professor Lupin about making sure you’re not seen.”

“And speak to Hermione and Ron, too,” Harry said.

* * * * *

By the time Nigel returned to Hogwarts, it was just past three in the morning. Snape apparated right after Nigel, still looking like himself.

“Let’s get in fast,” he said, “before anyone sees me.”

Together, they rushed to Snape’s hut, certain that no one had spied them. Snape lit the fire in the fireplace and took out two sherry glasses. He poured out a glass of splendid-looking mead, which Nigel sipped carefully and slowly. It had a pleasant, woody fragrance and tasted like magic, and instantly warmed him on the inside. He could feel his face turn slightly pink as he drank a little more.

“I’m glad you’re making them wait,” Snape said after a few moments of silence.

“I just thought we all needed a few hours to get our heads together before we start this whole process.”

“They trust you highly,” Snape said. “I’m glad you allowed them all to turn to you. I have a lot of faith in the future, for a change. You have a natural leadership that makes them feel easy around you.”

“To be honest, sir, I feel a bit sick about it.”

Snape laughed. “I think it’s time for you to be getting back to Slytherin House. Zabini will be wondering where you’ve gone. And Miss Parkinson might be prowling about searching for you. Remember…”

“…I know. Tell no one. Don’t worry. Only Professors McGonagall and Lupin will hear this. And Ron and Hermione, of course.”

“But later. In the morning. Go on, get some sleep.”

Nigel moved toward the door, but then he stopped and turned to face his cousin. “I just want to thank you, Severus, for all your support.”

“You don’t have to thank me…”

“No, I think I do. You know, growing up, I was always just a regular kid, nothing special or anything. I was a good student and pretty popular, I guess, but no one ever put me on a pedestal or anything.”

“Those muggles didn’t know what they had in front of them,” Snape said dryly.

“This whole magic thing has really changed me, you know?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “What a brilliant observation, Chaucer! Where do you get these insights?” he said sardonically.

“No, but I mean, it’s not just about the magic! It’s like this whole other part of my personality that I never knew I had is just coming out all at once. I never saw myself in this sort of role, to be honest.”

“I seem to remember you wanted to be a muggle doctor.”

“I did,” Nigel said wistfully. “Sometimes I still do. I still want to study at Stanford. But you said perhaps I should be a Healer. Maybe I should look into that. I’m pretty good with potions.”

“How about Minister of Magic?”

“Oh gods no!” Nigel exclaimed. “That’s the last thing I’d want!”

Snape grinned. “Good. That means there’s hope for you.” He stood up and took a book out of the packed bookcase by the window. “Take this and read it. It’s a biography of Professor Dumbledore. You will find chapter 15 particularly instructive.”

“Thank you,” Nigel said. “I’ll take good care of it for you.”

“Take your time with it. I’ve just about memorised the book.” He eyed Nigel carefully.

“What?” Nigel said uncomfortably. “Why are you staring at me? You’re not using Legilimency on me, are you?”

“Are you using Occlumency against me?”

“Yes,” Nigel admitted. He laughed.

“You know, we may never really know the reason why you suddenly became a wizard. But I’m glad you did. The best thing those silly Weasley twins ever did in their lives was donating blood to you. Positively inspired. I don’t think anyone realizes what your entry into the wizarding world has done.”

“Including me. I guess I’ll just have to take it on faith, like everyone else.”

“Go on to bed.”

* * * * *

By the time Nigel crawled into his bed the clock read almost four in the morning. He had walked slowly back to the castle, his mind so full of thoughts and questions that he could barely think straight. Coupled with that was the pain that had settled into his bones from the cold night air and all the strain and stress of the past several hours. When Nigel caught sight of his bed, he felt happier than he had in weeks. It was warm and comforting under the blankets. Nigel curled up and drifted quickly off to sleep.

He slept late, a little too late, in fact. By the time Nigel woke up Saturday morning, only Zabini remained in the room, putting the finishing touches on his hair. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, the favourite weekend of all the Hogwarts students. Zabini picked up a pillow from Crabbe’s bed and tossed it at Nigel.

“Aren’t you coming?” he asked. “We’re all leaving in about a half hour!”

Nigel groaned. His body felt intense pain as he struggled to wake up, partly a product of the attack he suffered at the hands of the Death Eater the night before. The cut on his arm had mostly healed, but the bruise on his stomach from the spell was still there. Nigel panicked for a moment. All he felt like doing was turning over and going back to sleep. But if he didn’t go to Hogsmeade, people might suspect something. Nigel wasn’t sure what they would suspect. And wouldn’t he be a better leader and example if he went? And wouldn’t Hermione expect his presence as Head Boy?

Nigel groaned. “All right, I’m coming.”

Zabini looked at him with sudden concern. “Are you OK, mate?”

Nigel winced a little. “Not really,” he admitted.

“Are you ill? You don’t have to go if you don’t feel good.”

“No, I should. Head Boy stuff, y’know.”

Zabini chuckled. “You’re a real champ, aren’t you, Chaucer?”

Nigel dressed as warmly as he could and made his way with Zabini to the Great Hall to get something to eat. Not much was left, and they had to make do with some toast and lukewarm coffee before they went out with the rest of the student body. Nigel greeted Hermione Granger civilly, not wanting to raise any suspicions.

“You coming to Hogsmeade, Granger?” Nigel asked curtly.

“Later. I’ve got a few things to finish up for Professor Slughorn first.”

Nigel and Zabini passed on without further word to Hermione. Nigel scolded three Third Years for straying from the path, and he had a brief snowball fight with a group of Fourth Year Ravenclaws. They watched with delight as Nigel made the snowballs tango and bounce in the air like rubber balls, all without use of a wand. Everyone laughed as he made a snowball change from white to pink to blue to green, and when he transfigured it into a small snowy owl, they cheered.

In the Three Broomsticks, Nigel sat with his fellow Slytherins and downed mugs of hot cider or butterbeer. Pansy showed them the solid gold quill she purchased at Scrivenshaft’s. Nigel placed a friendly hand on her knee. She placed her hand on his and pushed it upward a bit. He kissed her on the cheek. She kissed him on the lips. Goyle rolled his eyes.

“Why don’t you get a room upstairs?” Zabini joked.

“Oh ha ha,” Pansy said sourly.

The bell on the door tinkled, and in walked Ron, Neville, Seamus, Ginny, Hannah, Luna and Hermione. The Slytherins barely looked at them, but Nigel waved furtively. He extracted himself from Pansy’s hold and sat back casually to sip his cider. More than anything he wanted to speak to Hermione and Ron, but that was out of the question with Pansy still groping his leg. When her hand reached up a bit too high for his comfort in public, Nigel stopped her.

“Not now, hon, OK?” he said a bit impatiently.

Pansy glared at Hermione, who glared back. Nigel knew that trying to reconcile those two would be far more complicated than it was with Draco and Harry. And then, something happened which shocked everyone. Blaise Zabini, the most beautiful pureblood at Hogwarts, stood up and went over to the Gryffindors’ table. Both the Slytherins and the Gryffindors goggled as Zabini shook hands with Hermione, Ron and even with Neville. He exchanged what seemed like pleasantries, and after a few minutes, returned smiling to the Slytherin table.

“Be sure to wash your hands,” Pansy said sharply. The snarl on her face reminded Nigel very much of Draco.

“Give it a rest, Pansy,” Nigel snapped.

“What makes you so cozy with them?” she asked.

“Cozy? I’m not cozy with them!” Nigel said.

“Oh please, you can’t seem to get through a day without being in Granger’s presence!”

“She’s Head Girl! I’m Head Boy! Of course we spend a lot of time together! What do you expect?”

“Stop being stupid, Pansy,” Zabini said. “He’s no blood-traitor!”

She sat back with a scowl on her pretty face and rolled her eyes.

“Look, Pansy, I don’t have to justify my actions to anyone, OK? If you’re so closed-minded that you can’t even stand the thought of a professional connection with a mudblood, then I don’t know what to say to you. You’re on your own.” Nigel glared at her.

Pansy fluttered her eyes at him and kissed him on the lips. Nigel pulled her close and returned the kiss, warmly and passionately. Crabbe and Goyle looked on with detached interest. Zabini looked appalled.

“You two are unbelievable,” he said with disgust.

They carried on for the rest of the day, by the Shrieking Shack, behind Scrivenshaft’s, on a bench at the Hogsmeade station, and ultimately, back in the Slytherin common room. The kisses and touches were filled with fire and fierceness and ardour, highly erotic and charged with energy. And yet, at least for Nigel, it didn’t feel quite right. As sensual and lovely and tender as Pansy was, as arousing as her kisses were for him physically, there was something missing. Nigel knew very well what it was—he wasn’t in love with Pansy, and he knew she wasn’t in love with him. Nigel felt almost cheap as they lay on the couch together, wrapped in an intimate embrace, still kissing.

And then, Nigel looked at the clock. 2:15.

2:15?!?!

“Oh my gods!” Nigel yelped. “It’s late!” He squirmed out from under Pansy and attempted to stand up, only she tugged on the back of his shirt and pulled him back down. She laughed.

“Oh no you don’t,” she giggled. And then she whispered in his ear. “I want you, Nigel. All of you. All the way. Now.” She started to unbutton his shirt, kissing his throat and chest as she went.

Nigel pushed her hands away. “Look, Pansy, I don’t think we should. We’re just seventeen, and…”

“I lost my virginity two years ago to Draco,” she said. “I know what I’m doing.”

2:17. Nigel panicked. He pushed her hands away again. “Well I haven’t lost mine yet, and I don’t plan on it until I’m married.” He stood up.

“You sonofabitch!” she snapped. “What the hell was all that today? Who do you think you are? You think you can just use me like that and then walk away, no problem? I’m not just some cheap slag, you know! I come from a very prominent pureblooded family!”

2:18. Nigel started to sweat. He had only twelve minutes to get to the Prefects’ bathroom. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?” Nigel said, a little desperate. “I think we both need to cool off a bit. I’m pretty worked up right now, and I don’t want to say the wrong thing, OK?”

Indignant, she stood up and rebuttoned her blouse. “You can go straight to hell,” she said. And with that, she stomped off to the girls’ dorm.

Nigel dashed out of the common room, up the stairs and made his way to the Prefects’ bathroom, running at full speed. He glanced at his watch. 2:26. Just one more staircase. He ran and ran up the stairs. And then his knee gave out, and he stumbled upward, twisting his ankle hard and landing painfully on his hip. It took all he had to stifle the cry of pain he wanted to shout out.

“Shit!” he hissed angrily, grabbing onto his leg and rocking back and forth in agony. But there was no time to see what he had done. 2:27.

He got to his feet and continued up, but every time he put pressure on his ankle, he stumbled again. 2:28. Draco and Harry would be arriving in two minutes. Nigel could see the door to the bathroom. Closer. Closer. Another shot of pain in his ankle. Another stumble. 2:29. Finally, Nigel gripped the handle and shoved the door open, slamming it shut behind him and locking it tight. The sound of a pop made him turn around quickly.

They had done it. Standing before him were Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. Nigel collapsed on the bench by the bath and tried to force a smile. His heart pounded in his chest.

“You made it!” he said, out of breath.

Draco and Harry looked at him with great concern. “It looks like you barely made it,” Harry said. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah,” Nigel said. “I think I sprained my ankle getting here, though.” He lifted up his trouser leg and looked at his ankle, which was swollen and quickly becoming black and blue.

“Shit, Nige, I think you broke it,” Draco said. “What the hell were you doing?”

“Running up the stairs. My old injury pains got to me and I fell.”

“Damn,” Harry said.

“A little ankle break is nothing. I swear. Remember, my whole body was broken a year and a half ago. Just forget it for now,” Nigel said. “How was your journey?”

“Fine,” Harry said. Draco nodded in agreement.

“Good. OK, we have to move, now, while everyone’s asleep.” Pulling out his wand, he conjured a pair of crutches. “I have to take you both to McGonagall’s office.”

“She knows we’re here?” Harry asked, incredulous.

“She’s waiting for us. I slipped her a note about this earlier today. She has a plan of action for you both.”

“What about you?” Draco asked.

“I have my own role to accomplish. And so do you. But this part right now is up to Harry, and only Harry.”

The three of them made their way to McGonagall’s office, stopping every now and again when Nigel’s ankle became too painful for him to continue. The crutches helped him take all pressure of his swollen ankle, but he still felt intense pain from the fracture. Nigel steeled himself and pressed onward.

The wide stone halls were entirely silent as they passed through. Only the echoing click of Nigel’s crutches broke the stillness. No words were exchanged as they went. At last, they reached the two stone gargoyles.

“William Wallace,” Nigel said. The gargoyles jumped aside, letting them pass through.

Professor McGonagall was not alone in the office. With her were Hermione, Ron, Professor Lupin, and Snape, looking still like himself, and not as Austin Harpe. They all stood up when Nigel, Harry and Draco entered the office.

“My goodness, Mr. Chaucer!” McGonagall said with shock. “What happened?”

“The prat fell and broke his ankle,” Draco replied with a smirk.

“Welcome back to Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy,” Lupin said sarcastically.

“Welcome back to you, too, sir,” Draco replied.

“Did you have a safe journey?” Lupin asked.

“Perfect,” Harry said. “I’ve never disapparated from a cave before. Draco really knows what he’s doing.”

“I don’t suppose he gave you the incantation?” Snape asked.

Harry shook his head no.

“Good.”

Nigel sat carefully down on the chair by the fireplace and put his ankle up on the ottoman. He winced a little as he checked it again. It was even more swollen and black and blue. Snape pulled out his wand and knelt down next to Nigel. He pressed his wand sharply against Nigel’s painful ankle, right on the spot of the break.

“OOOWWW!” Nigel bellowed. But in a couple of seconds, he felt an intense heat and tingling sensation, and by the time Snape had removed his wand, the swelling had gone down considerably and the bruising had almost entirely disappeared.

“Don’t walk on it for a few hours,” Snape said. “You need to let the healing process finish.”

“Thank you, sir,” Nigel said.

“You really are a genius, Severus,” Lupin said with mild admiration.

Snape grunted slightly.

McGonagall called them all to order. “I think it is time for us to get started. I will take Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and Severus to the Trophy Room. Miss Granger, you will take Mr. Chaucer to the Hospital Wing in three hours time. For now, you will stay here with Professor Lupin and Mr. Malfoy. Remus, you know what to do.”

“What’s that?” Draco asked.

“I’m going to interrogate you,” Lupin replied casually.

Draco frowned.

“If we’re not back in three hours,” Harry said to them, “just stay put. We should be back before then.”

“I wish I could watch this,” Nigel said.

Harry put a hand on Nigel’s shoulder. “Sorry, mate. It’s just too dangerous. We can’t take any risks with you, I’m afraid. You really do just need to stay put and let your ankle finish healing.”


	17. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Before they could continue the conversation, the door opened, and in rushed Professor McGonagall, looking frightened and almost ghost-white. Following close at her heels were Snape, looking equally stricken, and Ron, his eyes flooded with tears. Ron collapsed onto the settee next to Hermione and buried his face in his hands, sobbing mournfully._
> 
> _“My gods! What happened?” Nigel said._
> 
> _“Oh no! He’s dead, isn’t he?” Hermione said, horrified. “Please, Ron! Is he?”_
> 
> _Ron choked back a sob and shook his head._

They were dying to know what was going on down there in the Trophy Room. All they could do in McGonagall’s office was wait and worry. Nigel wished he could see what was going on—just a little glimpse of the action would have been enough to satisfy his curiosity. In fact, Nigel had already dreamt up a scene in his own mind, embellishing each intricate detail:

_Harry opens the door of the trophy case, carefully, soundlessly pulling out his wand. He utters something in a strange language, in Parseltongue, a language even he can’t fully understand. But then something happens. The serpents carved on the base of the trophy stand start to undulate, first in waves and then in circles. They traverse the perimeter of the base once, twice, three times. With a little click, the trophy separates from the base, hovering a few feet in the air over the base._

_Harry reaches carefully, tremulously to touch the base, which now reveals the picture that Harry had described before. He wipes the beads of sweat from his brow, and then, haltingly, stretches out his hand to pick up the base. There is a look of wild excitement in his sparkling emerald eyes as he focuses his powers on the task. He feels a wild energy about the plaque, and speaks again to the snakes in that eerie language. They obey whatever it was that Harry said to them, and in a moment, they form a long line down the length of the base._

_A gap forms in the base, wider and wider, the force of energy becoming increasingly more powerful. With a careful move of the wand, a blue circular light emerges from Harry’s wand, first enveloping the entire base, and then sinking fast into the gap. A pale pink halo rises fron the gap, now encircling the base, which levitates and rejoins the trophy. With another move of the wand, Harry sets the trophy back down and shuts the door of the case._

Nigel opened his eyes and glanced over at Draco and Hermione, both of whom sat in stony silence in opposite corners of the expansive office. Lupin sat at McGonagall’s desk, writing what looked like a long list. Nigel listened to the scratching of Lupin’s quill. He cleared his throat. He wiggled his foot a little, testing out his ankle. It felt pretty good. Lupin glanced over.

“Your ankle improving?” he asked.

“A lot, actually.”

“Give it a couple more hours, though. We don’t want you breaking it again.”

“Right, sir. I will.”

Lupin finished what he was writing and moved over to the couch, sitting down next to Draco. “We have at least a couple of hours here, I expect, so let’s get this going.”

Draco sat up, ready for whatever Lupin had in store for him. “I suppose you want to know where the Dark Lord is, right?”

“Well, that was one of my questions.”

Draco shook his head mournfully. “I wish I could tell you, sir. I really do. After I ran away in December, I’ve mainly focused on staying ten steps away from my father and his wand.”

“Still,” Nigel said, “your father reports to the Dark Lord, right?”

“Frequently. But that doesn’t mean he knows exactly where he is at all times. And he certainly doesn’t confide all that in me.”

Hermione raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Or you just don’t wish to tell us.”

Draco threw her a furious glance. “That’s not true! If I knew, I’d tell you in a heartbeat!”

“I know that, Draco,” Nigel said, “but come on. Most people aren’t going to automatically trust your intentions.”

“And why should I trust theirs?”

“You trust me, don’t you?” Nigel asked.

“You know I do. I swore my loyalty to you, Nige. I meant it.”

“You swore loyalty to Nigel?” Lupin asked, aghast. “You and Severus?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh great, Slytherin loyalty rears its ugly head again.”

“Now just a minute, Granger,” Draco started. “I’ll have you know that Potter did the very same thing!”

“What?” Lupin said, even more aghast.

“Potter, that Auror, Shaklebolt, Tonks, um, Weasley’s mum and brother, even that crazy Moody swore loyalty to Chaucer! So it’s not just Slytherins doing it, Granger!” Draco folded his arms across his chess in an indignant huff.

“But why?” Hermione asked. “Why would you have them swear loyalty to you, Nigel? I don’t get it!”

Nigel blushed. “I don’t exactly get it either.”

“It wasn’t his idea, Granger,” Draco said. “We all saw that Chaucer has what no one else does—true leadership and compassion.”

“I know lots of people with those qualities,” Hermione said, irritated. “Don’t get me wrong, Nigel, I think you’re a wonderful wizard. It’s just that this seems very unnecessary to me.”

“That’s because you’re short-sighted,” Draco replied. “You’re not seeing the future, and I’m not talking that rubbish of Trelawney’s. I’m talking about real foresight. Anyone with half a brain will see that Nigel is going to lead the wizarding world into the next century.”

Mortified, Nigel blushed an even darker shade of red. “Come on, Draco, let’s give it a rest. Let me sit my N.E.W.T’s first, OK!” They laughed. “He’s just exaggerating, Hermione. I even told Snape that I wasn’t interested in being in the Ministry or anything. He rather liked that.”

“Just don’t let him control you too much,” she said.

“He doesn’t control me! But I trust his advice and his wisdom. He’s never let me down before.”

“He let us all down in June,” Hermione shot back.

Draco jumped out of his seat and advanced on her. “That is rubbish!” he shouted. “You have no idea what went on there, so shut the hell up about it, mudblood!”

“Malfoy! Stop it!” Nigel snapped. “If she’s a mudblood, then so am I.”

Draco stuck out his chin proudly. “You’re just an anomaly, Chaucer,” he said. “But OK, Granger, I’m sorry for using that word.” He put out his hand to her. “Forgive me?”

Haltingly, she took his hand and shook it. Draco pulled her toward him and gave her a little embrace, which she awkwardly returned. Alarmed and heartened, Lupin turned to Nigel.

“I’ll swear my loyalty to you, too, Nigel,” he said. “If you can bring these two together in peace, then I feel sure you can do just about anything.”

Hermione wiped a tear from her eye and kissed Nigel on the cheek. “Count me in, too, Nigel. I swear, the only other person I knew who had this effect on me was Professor Dumbledore.”

They all sat down again so Lupin could continue to question Draco.

“Right. Tell me, when was the last time you actually saw your father, Draco?”

“Two days ago, in London. I was trying to hide, sort of in plain sight, when he caught up with me. He actually apprehended me at one point and managed to beat me up pretty good. But I got in a nasty stinging spell on him, and I was able to escape. But then he and his cronies chased me down. Greyback was going to do me in, or so it looked, and that’s when Chaucer here saved my life. He kidnapped me right from under Greyback’s claws and got me to that hideout place where Potter was.”

“Thank the gods Nigel was out looking for you,” Lupin said.

“Why did you, Nige? What possessed you to come for me?”

“Part of it was from what you showed me in the bath that night…”

“In the bath?” Hermione asked.

Nigel and Draco both turned a mild shade of pink just then. “It’s a long story, Hermione,” Nigel said. “Anyway, that list you showed me, with ours and Harry’s and Severus’ names on it prompted me. But also what I heard at Malfoy Manor.”

“Oh yeah!” Draco said. “That picture! You know, they have no idea about that picture. You could use it to spy on the Death Eaters for as long as you want, provided you’re not seen. You could go in there every day and get great intel from it. All Father’s big meetings take place there. And you might just get lucky and see the Dark Lord there personally.”

“This is excellent, Draco,” Lupin said. “But does You-Know-Who know about the picture?”

“I doubt it,” Draco replied. “I mean, if he did, why wouldn’t he have ordered us to use it back in June? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“True,” Hermione said. “Malfoy…Draco…how much of a danger is Pansy Parkinson to this whole enterprise? She’s not on our side at all. Isn’t her dad a Death Eater?”

“I don’t suppose Nigel could work his charm on her, too, could you, Nigel?” Lupin asked hopefully.

“After tonight, I have no idea,” Nigel said heavily.

“You didn’t bonk her, did you?” Draco asked.

“No! I mean, no, I wouldn’t, I mean, she’s your girlfriend, right?”

Draco laughed. “You should have bonked her, Chaucer.”

“Oh, nice!” Hermione said with disgust.

“If you’re under the delusion that we’re in love, forget about it,” Draco replied.

“Oh, so you can just romance a girl, sleep with her, make her fall in love with you…” Hermione started.

“Pansy in love with me?” Draco said with a snigger. “That’s rich, Granger. Pansy in love with me! No more than I was with her! Look, Hermione, I’ve known Pansy all my life, and I know exactly the sort of girl she is. For her, it’s all about what she can get out of you. Preferably gold, diamonds and Galleons!”

“And you’re taking the moral high ground?” she said with a laugh.

“I never claimed I was moral, Granger. Maybe I’m a little more moral than I was before. Not much, but a little. But don’t get the idea that Pansy is some sweet little damsel with love and tenderness in her heart. She’s vain, worldly, selfish and ruthless.”

“Oh! Like you!” Hermione quipped.

“Oh ha ha, very amusing. But OK, Granger. I’ll agree with you, to a point. Thank gods Nigel is the future and not you!” Exasperated, he sighed. “If you want, Chaucer, I can take care of Pansy for you. She pretty much listens to what I say.”

“Will she be very thrilled to learn that you’ve gone to the other side?” Nigel asked.

“My guess is she already knows. Zabini knows. I told him myself last time I saw him. Stuff like that gets around pretty fast.”

“Unless your father was too ashamed to admit it or to let it be known,” Nigel said.

That comment stung Draco. “Thanks, Chaucer. I appreciate that.”

Before they could continue the conversation, the door opened, and in rushed Professor McGonagall, looking frightened and almost ghost-white. Following close at her heels were Snape, looking equally stricken, and Ron, his eyes flooded with tears. Ron collapsed onto the settee next to Hermione and buried his face in his hands, sobbing mournfully.

“My gods! What happened?” Nigel said.

“Oh no! He’s dead, isn’t he?” Hermione said, horrified. “Please, Ron! Is he?”

Ron choked back a sob and shook his head.

“Mr. Potter is not dead, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said brusquely, a slight tremor in her voice. She scribbled something fiercely onto a parchment, sniffling as she wrote. “Mr. Malfoy, we need your help immediately.”

Draco jumped to his feet. “What do you need?”

“You need to take these instructions to a Miss Vera Rose. You will find her at 34 Waddington Street, in York. She will have everything on this list. We need everything.” She handed Draco a green pouch filled with wizard gold. “This should be more than enough. I am entrusting you to bring back the ingredients AND my change. If you can do this, Mr. Malfoy, I will see to it that you sit your exams in June. HURRY! Be back within thirty minutes!”

“I’ll be back in fifteen. And I’ll do it without the promise of exams, Professor, but thanks all the same.” With that, Draco conjured the cave, entered inside and disapparated.

“When he returns, Mr. Chaucer, both you and Severus here will need to brew the potions for Mr. Potter.”

“What happened?” Nigel asked. He was shaking with dread and anxiety.

“Mr. Potter was able to open the Horcrux with great ease,” Snape began morbidly. “He used Parseltongue of course and sure enough, the plaque performed as expected. Destroying the Horcrux was another matter.” Snape shuddered.

“What happened?” Lupin asked.

“Albus had told him the process for destroying the Horcrux, and in fact, it was the same one he had used on the others. But this one was different.” Snape mopped his brow with an elegant white handkerchief, and continued. “The moment his wand connected with the Horcrux, a wall of fire emerged from it and engulfed him.”

“Oh my goodness!” Nigel exclaimed.

Ron dissolved into sobs again. The colour drained from Snape’s already pallid face.

“How badly burned was he?” Lupin asked.

“Severus was able to pull him away fairly quickly. All of us used aquamenti on him to extinguish the flames,” McGonagall said. She dabbed at the tears in her eyes.

“Was it normal fire, or will this leave magical injuries on him?” Nigel asked.

“We just have to make sure he survives the night first,” Snape said gravely. “Then we can worry about his injuries. The sooner Mr. Malfoy returns, the sooner we can get started on the potion to restore Mr. Potter to health.”

“Can we see him yet?” Hermione asked.

“Absolutely not,” McGonagall said. “Even I can’t. Only Madame Pomfrey, Severus and Mr. Chaucer will be admitted to the Hospital Wing for the next twenty-four hours.”

* * * * *

Draco was true to his promise, and made it back with a black velvet satchel filled with all sorts of bottles and phials and packages. “And here’s the rest of the money,” he said, returning her change to her.

McGonagall took the money-bag, while Snape took the potions ingredients. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” she said gratefully, giving him a little kiss on the cheek. “Well done. Severus, you and Nigel need to get to the Hospital Wing immediately.”

As they hurried along the corridors and staircases toward the Hospital Wing, Snape kept his head down and the hood of his traveling cloak up, covering his face. With his ankle fully recovered, Nigel was able to keep up with his cousin’s swift pace. Once in the vaulted Hospital Wing, they greeted a very harried Madame Pomfrey.

“Oh! Thank the gods you’re here!” she cried.

“How is he?” Nigel asked.

“Oh, not well, not well, Mr. Chaucer. He’s in terrible pain, the poor thing. He’s screaming for his dead mummy and daddy!”

Nigel’s heart broke for his injured friend.

Snape conjured three cauldrons on a long table by the window and opened up all the ingredients Draco had brought. He quickly sorted out which ones went with which cauldron. “Listen carefully, Nigel. We need to make three potions. A painkiller, which I’ll have you make, since you already know how to do it better than I do. The one I’ll work on heals burns of most types.”

“Most types?”

“It depends on the source of the fire. The way Harry reacts to the potion will tell us a lot about the nature of the fire.”

“Right,” Nigel said. “And the third?”

“We both will need to do that one, though the other two come first. We’ll hand off the first two to Madame Pomfrey, and then get started immediately on the third. It will cool Mr. Potter…”

“You said Harry.”

“I know what I said, Chaucer! Listen carefully. The third potion will halt any further injury and accelerate the healing process so that, we hope, the burns won’t leave permanent scarring or charring.”

Nigel bristled at the word ‘charring.’ The worked frantically, furiously at their tasks, brewing and stirring and waiting and testing. As he worked, Nigel felt a sense of terrible urgency, knowing that somehow, more than Harry’s health rested on this potion. All those people who suddenly counted on him, for whatever reasons they may have had, weighed more heavily on Nigel than ever before. He wondered what his parents would think of all this. With a pang in his heart, he wondered what Lucy would think. Would she regret her choice? Was it still too late? Could Nigel even fathom gaining interest in her again?

“Stop pining, Chaucer,” Snape growled.

“Stop invading my thoughts,” Nigel replied.

“Start using Occlumency full time. And not just against me.”

“Done yet?” Nigel sniped.

Snape picked up three empty glass bottles. “Yes I am. You?”

Nigel grumbled. “In ten minutes.” He placed the cauldron in an ice bath and plunged his wand down the centre of the white liquid.

“Good. Once you’re finished, decant it SLOWLY into these long tubes and bring them in.”

As Nigel held his wand in place in the rapidly chilling potion, which had now turned a very pale shade of mint green, he nearly jumped at the sound of a terrifying cry of pain. It resounded throughout the room, echoed off the stone walls, hitting Nigel’s ears like the sound of a wounded animal. Nigel thought of that night, a little over a year ago, when he and Snape applied a potion to Draco that caused him so much agony that his shrieks could be heard all the way down Nigel’s street.

He knew in a sense what Harry felt. While Nigel had never suffered terrible burns, he did know how it was to be battered and bleeding and near death, not knowing what terrors and excruciating pains the next five minutes would bring. He knew the fear Harry must have felt lying there, praying that he’d get to the next minute and then praying he’d die the next minute. Nigel saw the street where he was knocked down by the lorry. He heard the screams of the witnesses, Tony’s frightened shouts. He could feel the blood draining from his body, every bone broken and on fire with agony.

After a minute, Nigel shook himself back to his senses. He had just two more minutes before decanting the potion. More than anything just Nigel wanted Harry to survive. He wanted Draco to find peace and healing. He wanted Hermione and Ron to laugh like they did a year ago. He wanted all the burdens to go away, for this unknowable pressure placed on his shoulders to be lifted. He wanted never again to part from his cousin, never again to wonder about Snape’s health or his safety or his stability. He wanted so much for so many people, wizard or muggle—it didn’t matter any more.

His two minutes were up, and Nigel carefully and slowly decanted the potion, then carried them into the sickroom. He nearly dropped them at the sight of Harry, lying on the bed, barely conscious, his skin red and horribly burned on his arms and his face.

“Keep your stomach, Chaucer,” Snape said quietly. “And don’t drop those tubes.”

Nigel nodded and shut his eyes. Snape took one tube and knelt next to Harry. He put the tube up to Harry’s lips. “Come on, Harry,” he whispered gently. “Drink this. Nigel made it for you. It will take the pain away.” With a struggle, Harry managed to obey. A little of the potion dribbled down his chin, but Snape made sure that most of it was consumed. He even cradled Harry’s head as he drank greedily from the tube. Once the tube was empty, Snape handed it to Nigel and motioned for Nigel to leave. Nigel left.

Nigel rushed to a private area, overwhelmed by the shock of Harry’s horrifying injuries. He threw himself over the rubbish bin and sicked up his dinner, his lunch, and possibly his breakfast. He choked and gagged as waves of nausea and grief tore through him. Once the spell had dissipated, Nigel sat back against the wall and wept openly, his head buried in his hands.

After a while, after all his tears were shed and he was thoroughly exhausted, Nigel could only stare blankly ahead. Snape joined him, looking bedraggled and tired. He sank down next to him and placed a strong hand on Nigel’s.

“How is he?” Nigel asked.

“Alive,” Snape said softly. “A little better, I think. I hope. Your potion helped. He’s asleep now.”

“What do we do now? The third potion?”

Snape nodded. He stood up and offered a hand to Nigel so he could stand up, too. Paralysed with grief, all Nigel could do was stand there stupidly. Seeing his distress, Snape put his arms around him and held him tight for a moment.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “We have work to do.”

This potion was more of a butter or paste, odourless, ice cold and lavender in colour. Nigel brewed the ingredients in the cauldron, and Snape worked it into a fine creamy texture with a mortar and pestle in a deep stone bowl. By the time they finished, the sun had risen in the grey, cloudy sky. Rain fell in soft cascades, its rhythmic sound almost magical. Nigel ached for his bed.

“You did very well tonight, Nigel,” Snape said. “I get more and more proud of you every day I know you. You’re a miracle. Go on to bed.”

“What about the potion?”

“Leave that to Madame Pomfrey and me. Come back after you’ve gotten a few hours sleep. Miss Granger is taking care of official duties today.”

“Save him, Severus,” Nigel said.

“If he’s saved, it will be because of you just as much as myself. It will also be because of Mr. Malfoy and Professor McGonagall and their efforts. And of course because of Madame Pomfrey.”

“I love you, Severus,” Nigel blurted out, not knowing or wondering why he said that just then.

Snape place both hands on Nigel’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I love you, too, cousin. More than you will ever understand. Now go on. Get some sleep.”

As he traipsed back to Slytherin house, Nigel thought he might collapse on the floor and fall straight to sleep in the middle of the hallway. But somehow, he made it all the way back to his bed. Nigel had no memory of climbing into bed, fully dressed, nor of the other boys in his room getting up, having a full-fledged pillow fight whilst Nigel slumbered like Sleeping Beauty, nor of the house elves coming in to make the beds and air out the room. In fact, by the time Nigel awoke, it was nearly dinner time. He had no thoughts of homework, nor of Head Boy duties, nor of girl troubles with Pansy Parkinson. All Nigel could think about was Harry.


	18. New Challenges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between Pansy giving him a hard time and Lucy outing him as a wizard, Nigel is feeling stressed out. But...

Harry’s recovery was long and arduous. Nigel visited him the next day, but Harry looked about the same. His skin was still burned and he was still in much pain. Madame Pomfrey had applied a creamy potion to his skin that had now formed a sort of shell under which Harry’s wounds had darkened considerably. Nigel sat with him for about an hour, and then he left, making promises to visit again the next day.

Down in the Great Hall, Nigel sat at the Slytherin table, barely saying a word. Zabini looked at Nigel with concern. Pansy ignored him altogether.

“What’s going on, Nigel?” Zabini asked. “You sick or something?”

Nigel shook his head. “Just stressed out. Exams and all.”

Zabini made a face. “Those aren’t for months! I think you’re hanging around with Granger too much, mate. She’s been stressed out about exams since we got our O.W.L. results probably!”

Millie sniggered.

“I suppose,” Nigel said. He looked over at Pansy, who pretended to read a copy of Witch Weekly. Nigel knew she wasn’t. A picture of a witch dressed in power blue robes graced the cover, waving flirtatiously at the reader. Nigel nudged Pansy’s foot with his. She looked up and snarled at him. He nudged her again.

“Do that again, Chaucer, and I’ll hex it off,” she snapped.

Q

“Ouch!” Goyle chortled.

“Someone got up on the wrong side of the web this morning!” Zabini joked.

Pansy slammed down the magazine, grabbed her schoolbooks and stomped off, out of the Great Hall. The other Slytherins gave questions glances to Nigel, who could only shrug his shoulders.

“Don’t let her stay mad at you, Nige,” Millie said. “She can be a real terror when she gets like that.”

The last thing Nigel needed was Girl Drama. He rolled his eyes and went out, following Pansy’s flowery scent. He found her climbing the stairs on the way to the Library.

“Pansy!” he called out to her.

She turned to see who it was—spotting Nigel sprinting up the stairs after her, she turned back and continued on her way. Nigel finally caught up with her and stepped in front of her so she couldn’t pass.

“What do you want, Chaucer?” she demanded.

“I just wanted to apologise to you for the other night,” Nigel said. “I was way out of line. I shouldn’t have led you on like that. It was unfair of me.”

She gave him a killer stare, and then burst out laughing. “You’re feeling guilty, are you? What a gentleman you are! Save it for that muggle slag you used to date.”

“You don’t have to get nasty about it, Pansy! All I wanted…”

But she stopped him in mid sentence. “See, Chaucer, there’s only one thing I want from you, and it’s not your apologies.”

“What is it you want from me?”

She grinned wickedly and whispered in his ear. “You know what I want. What you wouldn’t give me before.”

“Forget it, Pansy! I’m not giving you that! I like being with you but I won’t do that.”

“Fine. Then we have nothing further to discuss.” And with that, she turned on her heel and headed toward the Library. 

Nigel didn’t try to stop her. All he could do was stand there, flabbergasted and mute. It was only when Ginny Weasley tapped him on the shoulder that he regained his composure.

“Earth to Nigel!” she joked. “You OK?”

“I need to go home,” he said.

* * * * *

With permission from Professor McGonagall, Nigel sent an owl to his parents that he’d be stopping by Tuesday evening for supper and to stay over in his room for the night. They replied with delight and anticipation. As he walked toward St. Luke, a thousand thoughts rushed into Nigel’s mind. He wondered how much he should tell them about recent events. He knew he couldn’t tell them Snape had returned, and he was pretty sure it would be unwise to reveal Harry and Draco’s presence in the castle. On the other hand, he could tell them about his broken ankle and about his troubles with Pansy. Nigel decided not to mention the fight with the Death Eaters—that would cause way too much worry, and Mrs. Chaucer might pull him out of Hogwarts entirely.

By the time he arrived home, he could smell his mother’s famous beef stew—one of Nigel’s favourites. Through the window as he approached, he noticed something else. Lucy was sitting by the fireplace, chatting with Clive and Jimmy. Nigel paused, unsure of how to comport himself. He hadn’t lost his feelings for Lucy, in spite of everything, but he was also still hurt by her rejection of him in December. He steeled himself and went inside.

“Hi, everyone! I’m home!” Nigel called.

Jimmy and Clive rushed toward Nigel and practically tackled him in the doorway. They all laughed and hugged each other and feigned a fistfight for a thrilling ten seconds. Mr. and Mrs. Chaucer rushed out of the kitchen to greet Nigel.

“You look thin,” Mrs. Chaucer said. “You need to eat more and study less!”

“I’m fine, mum,” Nigel said. “Really! I eat a lot over there! I’m just a growing boy, that’s all!”

Mr. Chaucer looked him over. “I think you did grow, at least an inch this year. Maybe two.”

Nigel laughed. “Maybe, Dad.” He hugged and kissed his parents, then turned his attention to Lucy, who didn’t get up from her seat by the fire. “Hi, Lucy,” he said.

“Welcome home, Nigel,” she said lightly. She stood up and gave him a little hug. A sigh escaped Nigel’s lips at Lucy’s touch, as fleeting as it was. “You look great! I guess those wizards are treating you well!”

Nigel gasped. Lucy clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Shit,” Nigel whispered almost inaudibly. He rubbed his forehead and tried to think.

“Wizards?” Jimmy said with a laugh. “Geez, Nigel, you’re not pagan, are you?”

“Yeah,” Clive chimed in, “are you at Wicca High School or something?” They all laughed.

Nigel shook his head dismissively. “It’s just a moniker.”

“You’re a lousy liar,” Clive said. “Come on, Nige, what does she mean?”

“Look, guys, it’s not something I’m exactly allowed to discuss with mugg…with you.”

“I’m so sorry, Nigel,” Lucy said. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Oh wait, so Lucy knows where you’ve been but we don’t?” Jimmy said, offended. “I mean, what about everything you told us in December about your classes? Were those lies, too? Are you even in school?”

“Yes, I’m in school.” Nigel sighed, extremely uncomfortable now. He didn’t want his friends to think of him as a liar. “OK, guys, look. I’ll tell you a little, but you have to promise not to tell anyone. Wizard law is very strict about this.”

Jimmy raised his eyebrows. “Wizard law? What is all this?”

“This isn’t some sort of cult, is it?” Clive asked.

“You’re in a cult?” Jimmy exclaimed.

“No, I’m not in a cult! It’s not like that at all!” They all sat by the fire so Nigel could explain without explaining too much. “OK, see, back a year ago, before that even, some strange things started happening to me. The long and short of it is that I found out I had certain…well…powers.”

Clive laughed. “Like Superman?”

“Not exactly. I found out that I had become a wizard…sort of.”

“Sort of?” Jimmy asked.

“Full-blown, in fact. Nobody really knows why or how. Even the smartest wizard I know has no idea how it happened, but it did.”

“You mean like magic or something?” Jimmy asked.

“Wait a second!” Clive said excitedly. “I remember that incident with the chalk! Last year! You made it fly across the room, remember?”

“I heard about that,” Jimmy said.

“You were in the room, dumbass!” Clive said, punching Jimmy in the arm.

“I don’t remember, OK?”

“Anyway,” Nigel said, getting back to the subject at hand. “Yes, I remember doing that, too. At the time, I had no real control over my powers, though, so weird stuff like that happened a lot. I’ve learned how to control and channel my powers now, to grow in them and really understand them and make them a part of myself.”

Clive laughed. “That is the most mental thing I’ve ever heard out of you, Nigel! Have you lost your mind? Magic powers? Are you bloody serious?”

Nigel sighed. “It’s the truth, Clive. Believe me, it didn’t make a lot of sense to me either when it first happened. Even now, I’m learning…”

“Listen to yourself, mate!” Clive insisted.

“Well where do you think I’ve been these last several months? Siberia? Why would I make up such a tale?”

“OK, Mr. Wizard, where have you been? Where’s this school you go to?”

Nigel knew his answer would raise further doubts. “Hogwarts is just beyond St. Luke. It’s practically in our back garden!”

Clive laughed. “I don’t see any school. Where is it?”

“There are special charms placed on Hogwarts so that muggles can’t see it. We can’t risk having you find us and interfering with the school.”

“Clive,” Mrs. Chaucer intervened, “Nigel is being honest with you. I understand your doubts, dear. Nigel’s father and I both had great suspicion about this magic business. But it’s absolutely true.”

“But what does this mean?” Jimmy asked. “Does this mean you’ll have to go away forever?”

“Of course not! I’m just away at school this year! I finish the same time as you!”

“But what about university?” Jimmy asked. “What about medical school? Can you still go to Stanford?”

“My career is going to take a different path,” Nigel said. “I still don’t know what I’ll do after I’m done this year, but I think I’ll find something.”

“They don’t have a university for wizards?” Clive asked.

“Some careers ask for further study, but it’s not exactly in a university setting. I’m pretty good at potion making, so I might pursue something along those lines.”

Clive sat back and scratched his head. “I’m just in shock,” he said. “I can’t believe this is the first I’ve heard of this. This is amazing!”

“Look, guys, I need you to promise me you won’t tell a single soul about this,” Nigel said seriously. “I’m serious about this. It’ll be nothing but trouble if you start broadcasting it about.”

“I won’t, mate,” Jimmy promised.

“No one would believe us anyway,” Clive said.

Later that night, after Jimmy and Clive had gone home, Lucy and Nigel sat on the couch in the front parlour of Nigel’s house. They snacked on a bowl of crisps and popcorn and sipped on cokes. They both had their shoes off. Nigel had thrown a quilt over both of them. They snuggled down under the quilt and relaxed.

“This is nice,” Lucy said.

“Like old times,” Nigel replied wistfully.

“Yeah.”

“So, you seeing anyone special these days?” Nigel asked, trying to sound casual.

She hesitated. “There was this one boy, you remember Colin?”

Nigel made a face. “Colin Hatford? The rubgy player?”

Lucy nodded. “We saw each other for a short time, but, I don’t know, it just wasn’t…well…it’s just that he…wasn’t you.” She blushed. So did Nigel.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Are you seeing that girl?”

“Last term she hounded me, threw herself at me, tried to get with me right in public. I resisted her the whole time. But when you broke up with me, I sort of started seeing her. Mostly we just messed about a lot.”

“And now?”

“She wants what I’m not willing to give.”

“You mean sex?”

“Apparently that’s all she wants from me.”

“She’s a stupid girl. So you’re single, then?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.” A tear rolled down Lucy’s cheek. “I really cocked it up, didn’t I?”

“No. You were right to be concerned. I can’t blame you.”

“You’re being kind. I was beastly to you. I should never have treated you like that, Nigel. I’m so sorry.”

Nigel reached over and placed his hands on hers. “Lucy, do you suppose…well…that you and I could try it again?”

Lucy caressed Nigel’s face and gazed intently into his eyes. She smiled. Nigel leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, hesitantly at first, then more deeply, passionately. She pulled him close and wrapped her arms around his neck, returning his kiss. Nigel could barely contain his joy—he had her back in his life!

“I missed you so much!” she said.

“Me, too.” He kissed her again.

* * * * *

Nigel arrived back at school just before dinner Wednesday evening. He reported first to Hermione, to see what they needed to do before dinner began. He also asked her how Harry was doing.

“The shell is hardening,” Hermione said quietly. “It’ll take a few more days. Then it has to set a while longer until his skin gets really flaky and dark.”

“Then what? It sounds disgusting.”

“They carefully remove the shell, and with it, the burned skin. The potion you and your cousin made has healing properties for burns like this.”

“I suppose you read about this in the Library.” Nigel grinned as they walked through the hall toward the Great Hall.

“Actually, your cousin told me.”

“Where are he and Blondie staying, anyway?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t think McGonagall wants anyone to know that. I suppose that makes sense.”

“True. Hey! Stop running!” Nigel shouted at a Gryffindor First Year.

The little boy, a round faced blond boy with a spray of freckles across his nose, stopped in his tracks and turned to face Nigel. “Yes, sir!” he exclaimed, saluting him. He remained in that pose for some reason Nigel couldn’t fathom.

Hermione nudged Nigel. “Salute back!” she hissed at him.

Nigel saluted back. The boy beamed and walked off proudly toward the Great Hall. Nigel watched him go with an amazed expression.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “What’s up with everyone these days?”

“Your pal Zabini’s been campaigning on your behalf, I think,” Hermione said. Noting the puzzlement on Nigel’s face, she smiled. “Remember that weekend when Zabini was so civil toward us in the Three Broomsticks?”

“Pansy was pretty angry about that.”

“Zabini’s been on this personal mission to make friends outside of Slytherin House. And, he said, at least to us, that he was following in your footsteps, and that if it was good enough for you, it was good enough for him, too. Everyone around school sees you as a unifier.”

“So a First Year salutes me?”

Hermione giggled and pulled him along by the elbow.

Sitting among his Slytherin friends again, Nigel felt it necessary to maintain his usual authoritarian coolness, which seemed to resonate well with his housemates. Pansy still didn’t pay any attention to Nigel. The only reason this bothered him was because he wasn’t sure how dangerous she might be. He decided not to mention that he had reunited with Lucy.

“So Nigel, where’ve you been these last few days?” Zabini asked.

“I’ve been around. Just busy with things. I got to visit my parents yesterday. I stayed the night.”

“That’s disgusting,” Pansy snarled.

“Seeing my parents is disgusting?”

“Being in the same breathing space as muggles is disgusting,” she replied. “I suppose that’s why you can’t get it up.”

Crabbe laughed. Zabini scowled.

“I suppose you expect me to make some sort of snappy comeback so you can degrade my manhood,” Nigel said to her.

Pansy giggled. “Did you know that each day you spend with muggles you lose ten points off your IQ?”

“Is that the best you can come up with, Pansy?” Nigel retorted. “Silly insults? I thought better of you.”

“Oh really, you want conflict do you?” Pansy said, her voice rising. “How about if I told everyone that you forced yourself on me? Then we’ll see how highly regarded you’ll be!”

Zabini could no longer stay out of it. “You are nothing but the spoilt daughter of a well-known Death Eater, Parkinson! You say anything against Chaucer and I’ll personally see to it that you regret it!”

“Lay off, Blaise!” Nigel said sharply.

“Oh that’s nice, coming to your boyfriend’s rescue!” Pansy sneered. “We all know about you and Draco, Nigel! I know Zabini here is a poor substitute, but then again, I think both you and I can agree that Draco was a splendid piece of man.”

Nigel laughed derisively. “More insults! It sounds to me like you’re forcing yourself to say things that repel you, things you don’t really believe!”

Pansy stood up. “You’re the one who’s repellant,” she snapped. And with her coterie of Slytherin girlfriends, she stormed out of the Great Hall.

“Don’t worry about her, mate,” Zabini said, serving himself another helping of steak-and-kidney pie. “She’s just upset. She’ll cool off.”

Millie shook her head and chuckled. “That’s all you know, Zabini. Girls don’t just get over it. Never. She’ll remember this twenty years from now. I guarantee it.”

As it turned out, Millie was right. Four days later, Pansy not only hadn’t cooled off, but instead, she had gotten even angrier with Nigel. All week, in spite of his two days’ absence from lessons, Nigel still managed to earn the highest marks in all his classes. On Friday, Slughorn invited Nigel to teach the class to make the Draught of Healing, a potion Snape had taught him a year ago. Most of the class, including Hermione, spoiled their potion because their ladling technique was either too rough or too passive. Pansy waited too long to put it on ice, so hers burned. Slughorn gave Pansy a P for the day, and he reprimanded the class for their slipshod performance that day. The next highest score came from Zabini, who received an E. Hermione received an A. No one else passed.

Then at lunch, Zabini took the last bacon sandwich, which he gave to Nigel. Later, in Charms, Pansy’s crystal wine glass smashed to pieces when she tried to make it tango with a beer mug. Nigel only made things worse when he repaired it for her, rather than letting her do it herself. Nigel not only got his glasses to tango, but some felt certain they could hear music emanating from the stem of the wine glass. He received an O, with a special commendation for creativity. Pansy ultimately received an A, but also was set an essay on the background of the Dancing Charm.

Nigel could tell she was feeling angry and upset and frustrated, but Zabini cautioned him to leave it alone.

“Her pride is hurt,” Zabini said. “She needs this. It’s good for her.”

Nigel scowled doubtfully. “I guess.”

That night as he did his rounds, Nigel pondered all that had transpired that long week. It was too much too fast. Fights, escapes, hiding, healing, anxiety, and of course, all that stuff about loyalty. The best thing that had happened was his reconciliation with Lucy. That was the one thing that gave him some hope. He wished desperately that everything could return to normal, that Snape would be reinstated, that Draco could…

…return to Hogwarts as a student.


	19. A Modest Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Maybe it could work. OK, so it would be hard on Draco. Hard on the students, too. I mean, he killed Dumbledore! Well, he conspired to. He was supposed to. But he didn’t. If Draco could return, things could start to mend, maybe. If the students didn’t kill Draco first. That wouldn’t happen. He felt pretty sure that wouldn’t happen._
> 
> _He hoped that wouldn’t happen._

Maybe it could work. OK, so it would be hard on Draco. Hard on the students, too. I mean, he killed Dumbledore! Well, he conspired to. He was supposed to. But he didn’t. If Draco could return, things could start to mend, maybe. If the students didn’t kill Draco first. That wouldn’t happen. He felt pretty sure that wouldn’t happen.

He hoped that wouldn’t happen.

As he did rounds that night, Nigel brought along with him Snape’s copy of Dumbledore’s biography. He thumbed through it cursorily at first, then read it more closely. Childhood. His brother Aberforth. Schooling. Early career. Order of Merlin. Teacher. Headmaster. Political figure and role model for countless wizards and witches. No mention of his untimely death, of course. The book was published in 1982, not long after the Dark Lord’s defeat by the Boy Who Lived.

The most interesting chapter for Nigel was an interview of Dumbledore, conducted back in 1964. When asked what the greatest hindrance to peace there was, Dumbledore replied, “Division and cold-heartedness. The road to peace can only begin when we are willing to reach out even to the most disgraced members of our society and offer them a helping hand.”

The thought struck Nigel deeply. It made so much sense, especially now, when there was so little peace in the wizarding world. Perhaps it was time for something radical, something new.

After lessons Monday afternoon, Nigel talked it over with Hermione as they made their way to the Hospital Wing to see Harry. As expected, she objected vehemently.

“You must be mad, Nigel!” she said harshly. “That is the absolute worst idea I’ve ever heard!”

“Because you hate him!”

“No, not that. And I don’t hate him any more. You proved to me that he has changed.”

“Then all the more reason to let him come back!”

“Do you have any idea how much danger he’d be in if he came back as a student? Everyone would want a piece of him, Nigel. Everyone, including Slytherins!”

“Not if we explain it to everyone.”

Hermione laughed. “You’re such an idealist! You remind me of Dumbledore! He would have done the same thing! But there’s something you haven’t considered. Draco may not want to come back. It might be too much for him, I mean, he’s on the run from the Death Eaters and his own father. This is a lot of pressure to put on him right now.”

Nigel sighed. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Harry had become so dark under the shell that he was no longer recognizable, looking more like a mummy than a young man. The shell had become, as Hermione predicted, hard, clear and sleek, ready to be cracked open. Madame Pomfrey, Professor Lupin, Snape, Ron, Draco and McGonagall had also gathered around Harry’s beside for the event. Madame Pomfrey produced two small, very sharp knives, handing one to Snape. She looked him in the eyes.

“Are you ready, Severus?” she asked, a bit tremulously.

“I am. We must be careful to be extremely gentle as we remove the shell. We don’t want to cause any scarring on his body.”

“How is he breathing under there?” Ron asked.

“The shell is hard, but porous as well. He is breathing quite well, Mr. Weasley,” Snape replied. He and Madame Pomfrey leaned over Harry, positioning their knives in just the right place. Together, they carefully inserted the tips of their knives just under Harry’s chin. Madame Pomfrey cut the shell upward, whilst Snape cut downward. The hiss of air escaped from the tight shell that had formed around Harry’s upper body and head.

In perfect synchronisation, they set down the knives and slowly began to peel back the shell, revealing underneath healthy, clean skin on Harry’s face and arms. He grunted a little as the fresh, cool air hit him. His eyes fluttered a little, and he drew in a deep breath as he regained consciousness. Snape and Madame Pomfrey continued to remove the last bits of the shell gingerly from his arms, wrists, fingers, hair and neck. Harry grunted again and attempted to move. Hermione burst into tears.

“Mr. Chaucer, Severus, you did beautifully!” Madame Pomfrey. “Not a single scar! He healed beautifully! Look, even the scar on his forehead seems smaller!” She fixed Harry’s pillows so he could sit up. “How are you feeling, dear?” she asked, plying him with a glass of cold water.

Harry drank greedily from the glass. A little water slithered down his chin and neck, which Madame Pomfrey mopped up daintily. “I’m OK,” he finally croaked. His voice was raspy and tired.

“Just relax, dear,” Madame Pomfrey said. “Your skin will be quite sensitive for a while, and it might be a little painful.”

“Do you remember what happened, Potter?” Snape asked.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. After I destroyed the Horcrux, all I remember is flames. I think I heard someone screaming. Then again, it might have been me. Mostly I remember pain. Lots of pain.”

“Mr. Chaucer here is responsible in part for your recovery,” Snape pointed out. Nigel blushed.

Harry smiled weakly at Nigel. “You really are a genius, mate,” he said.

Madame Pomfrey fussed with the covers on Harry’s bed. “Alright everyone, it’s time to go. You can all see him tomorrow. The boy needs some food and then a good night’s sleep!”

Reluctantly, they all trudged out, Snape included, retreating as a group to McGonagall’s office. Lupin lit the fire and McGonagall poured out sherry for everyone there. Ron drank his a little too quickly—his nose turned as red as his hair. Nigel barely touched his. His mind was filled with too many thoughts, too many ideas. The time for boldness had come.

“I’d like to make a proposal,” Nigel said.

“A toast?” Draco joked.

“No. A proposal. About you, actually.” Nigel set his glass on McGonagall’s desk and stood up to speak. “Professor McGonagall, Draco, I’ve thought it over, and I think it would be a great idea to readmit Draco to Hogwarts to finish his education.”

Silence. Finally, after a few very uncomfortable seconds, Draco laughed.

“You’re joking, right?” he asked.

“I’m serious,” Nigel said.

“What makes you think I want to come back?” he asked bitterly.

“Because I know what this place means to you,” Nigel replied. “I know how much you love Hogwarts.”

“That is hardly a reason to readmit him to our school,” McGonagall said sharply. “Do you realise the challenges such an action would present, not just to the students but to Mr. Malfoy as well?”

“I know, Professor. I thought about that. But that’s no reason not to readmit him.”

“Uh, excuse me, Chaucer,” Draco said. “How about asking me first?”

“I just think this is time for all of us to practice what we preach. We’re supposed to be all about unity and community, but that has to include reaching out to, well…”

“To the most disgraced members of our society?” Snape asked, suppressing a smirk.

Nigel blushed hotly.

“You’ve been reading Dumbledore’s biography, haven’t you?” Snape said. “Good for you.”

“Severus, Nigel is not Albus,” McGonagall reminded him.

“No, of course not. But they have the same mind.”

“And do you think it wise to readmit Mr. Malfoy to Hogwarts?” she asked him pointedly.

“Not wise. But merciful. Kind. Hopeful. It’s something I think Albus would have at least considered, in the name of fostering peace.”

“And I suppose you expect the same consideration?” Lupin asked skeptically.

“I expect nothing, nor do I believe I deserve anything,” Snape replied haughtily. “But Mr. Malfoy is in a different situation. He has his whole life before him, and apparently Mr. Chaucer is the only one who really understands this.”

Draco shook his head in protest. “I just can’t. I can’t face them. They hate me almost as much as I hate myself! I just can’t do this.”

“You have to face this somehow, Draco,” Nigel insisted. “You have to face them. Better here in a controlled environment then out there in the world!”

“You don’t get it, Chaucer! I helped kill an unarmed old man! It’s unforgivable! I don’t deserve anything other than scorn! You are such a damn idealist!”

“You were in a horrible situation, Draco!” Nigel said. “You had no choice!”

“I had a choice! At the last moment I had a choice! He offered me a way out and I refused him! I could have just defied the Dark Lord, but I was too weak!” Draco sobbed pitifully. Both Nigel and Hermione put a comforting arm around his shoulders.

“You know that isn’t true, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said sympathetically. “Self pity won’t take your pain away. But facing your detractors, presenting yourself to them openly and honestly, that is a powerful witness.”

“You won’t be alone, Draco,” Nigel said. “You’ve got me, right here.”

“Me, too,” Hermione echoed. McGonagall handed Draco a handkerchief.

McGonagall pulled up a chair and sat before Draco. “Now listen carefully to me, Mr. Malfoy,” she began, “I am not fully convinced that readmitting you as a student is a good decision. However, I shall offer a compromise of sorts. If you can prove yourself to be a good, positive, humble presence here at the school as a guest rather than as a student, then I think we can arrange for you to sit your exams in June with your classmates.”

“I’ll tutor him,” Nigel offered.

“I think you had better leave that to me, Chaucer,” Snape said. “You have enough to do.”

“Can he return to Slytherin House?” Nigel asked.

“That would be a very bad idea,” Snape said. “Now you’re just getting reckless, Chaucer. You have to consider his safety.”

Nigel blushed. “I just thought…never mind. I get it.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Good.”

“There’s just one little problem,” Draco said. “I still don’t want to do this.”

“You know, Mr. Malfoy,” Lupin said, “now that I think about it, this really is the safest place for you. Maybe it is a good thing for to come out of hiding. At least you’d be protected here.”

Draco shook his head mournfully. “Why are you doing this to me, Nigel?” he said angrily. “How can you make me do this?”

That troubled Nigel. “I’m not trying to force you, mate! This will benefit everyone, the wizarding world!”

Draco rolled his eyes in disbelief. “I think you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m being completely serious, Draco! Defeating the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters extends far beyond what Harry has to do. That’s only one part of the equation. Unity is the key that will keep the Death Eaters from grasping at total power. The stronger the whole wizarding community is against them, the safer we all become! We can finally have some peace!”

“What does that have to do with my returning to Hogwarts?” Draco asked.

“Because we can model unity and goodness, even bring people over from the Dark Lord’s side to ours! The whole wizarding world pays close attention to everything that goes on here. Why do you think the Ministry keeps trying to interfere with the school? Your presence here will definitely make an impact.”

Ron looked skeptical. “What would he do around here? Just walk around so everyone can see him?”

Snape grunted impatiently, but said nothing, waiting instead for Nigel to reply.

“It’s a fair question,” Hermione said.

“Well, Hagrid already has an assistant in Mr. Harpe,” McGonagall began.

“Thank the gods,” Draco muttered.

“However, between my classes and my Headmistress duties, I could use a good, efficient assistant to help me with a few things around the school,” she continued. “In fact, Mr. Malfoy, you could serve quite well as an assistant to the entire staff.”

Draco’s face fell. “You want me to be a servant?” he said.

Ron snorted with disgust. “Beggars can’t be choosers, Malfoy,” he said.

“Draco’s not a beggar!” Nigel snapped.

“Yes he is,” Ron snapped back. “And I can’t believe you would actually work to get him back here! Hogwarts is better off without the prat! Let him face his father!”

Draco jumped up and advanced on Ron. “Say that to my face, Weasley,” he snarled.

Ron glared at Draco. “OK, Malfoy, I will. You have brought nothing but hatred and hostility to Hogwarts, and the sooner you take off and get the hell out of here, the happier we’ll all be!”

To everyone’s astonishment, Draco did not hex, punch, or even remotely touch Ron. What he said astonished them even more. Looking Ron directly in the eye, Draco said, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Ron said, entirely flummoxed.

“I’m sorry, Weasley…Ron. For everything I ever did to you or said about you. For insulting your mother and your house and your girlfriend. You’re right. I am a prat.”

Ron gave him a skeptical look. “So you think that’s all it takes, just a simple ‘sorry’ and I’m supposed to cave in and become your best friend or something?”

“Oh Ron!” Hermione barked at him with disgust. “Who’s being the prat now?”

“A simple ‘sorry’?” Draco said, furious. “Maybe I need to clarify myself, Weasley! I have no interest in being your best friend! If you can’t take a simple apology, then you really are a prat! You know, I didn’t have to say a word to you, but I was trying to cooperate with what Chaucer is trying to accomplish!”

“Stop it, the two of you!” Nigel said.

“This is exactly the problem, Nigel,” Lupin said.

“This is exactly why we need unity!” Nigel reminded him. “Look, I know I’m relatively new to the wizarding world and to Hogwarts. I know you two have a whole history of animosity, and that some ugly things were said in the past.”

“You’re damn right,” Ron said bitterly.

“But none of us can afford to live in the past!” Nigel insisted. “In my own way, I struggled with that. I went through a really tough depression earlier this year because I was hanging on to an identity that didn’t suit me any more. Draco, you were the one who really helped me out of that.”

“What’s your point?” Ron asked. “No offence Nigel, but I’m really not interested in your life story.”

Snape rolled his eyes, but again, didn’t say a word, in spite of the temptation to give Ron a dressing-down, instead, deferring to Nigel.

“My point is that the wizarding world can’t progress with all this old animosity keeping us locked in the past. The Dark Lord thrives off our disunity and this ridiculous backbiting! Once people like you can at least be civil toward each other, we will have come a very long way! No one is asking you to become best friends. So can the two of you give it a rest for once at least call a truce?”

“Precisely,” Hermione said. “After all, if Harry can trust Draco, why can’t you? Even your mum trusts Draco! Nigel said so! So do your brother and your father!”

“I find that hard to believe.” Ron shook his head. “You’re asking a lot.”

“I’m willing, Ron, if you are,” Draco said. “I’m willing to let go of hostility if you are, right here and now.” He put out his hand. “Will you join me?”

“Do you swear that you will never say another insulting word about my family?”

“I do. Look, Ron, all I want is for this stupid war to end so we can all get on with our lives. We’re so close.”

“He’s right, Ron,” Nigel said. “Surely you can agree with that.”

Ron sighed. He furtively shook hands with Draco, then wiped his hand on the leg of his trousers. Nigel beamed.

“I’m really proud of both of you,” he said.

“So am I,” Lupin agreed. “He does have a way about him, doesn’t he, Severus?” He patted Nigel on the back and sat down by the fire.

* * * * *

The next morning, Nigel and Blaise Zabini left Slytherin House early to plan the day with Draco Malfoy. Sitting on the bed in Draco’s room in the guest wing, Nigel gave him a few words of encouragement whilst Zabini looked on with curiosity, standing casually near the door.

“OK, Malfoy, now listen up,” Nigel began. “If anyone gives you any trouble, let me handle it. Whatever you do, do NOT lash out, use violence or any sort of abusive language.”

Draco didn’t like that bit of advice. Neither did Zabini.

“You can’t tie his hands like that, Nigel,” Zabini said. “You tried to do this to us earlier this year, and it didn’t work then, either!”

“I’m not trying to tie his hand, Blaise, and I wasn’t back in September, either. Any sign of violence or hostility on your part, Draco, will work against you. You want to show people that you can be trusted, that you are a man of peace, not of hatred. The only way you can show that is to be a bit of a pacifist.”

Draco snorted. “So you’re going to defend me 24/7? How is that possible?”

“That’s not the idea.”

“So if someone attempts to hex me whilst you’re in class, I’m supposed to let it happen? And if they try to use an Unforgivable on me? Then what?”

“I know this sounds crazy, mate, but you’re just going to have to take a little courage.” Nigel put his hands on Draco’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “First of all, for your own safety, you should use the Shield Charm, wordlessly, of course. That’ll deflect pretty much everything.”

Zabini laughed. “Yeah, and before we know it, the Hospital Wing will be filled!”

Nigel frowned. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Here’s the other thing. Hermione, Ron and I are going to make sure that you are seen with all the right people around here.”

Draco sniggered. “The right people? What the hell is that?”

“Hermione, Ron and I have already talked to people who are trusted members of this student body. Myself, Blaise, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, MacMillan, Hannah Abbot, Zach Smith, Dean, Cormac, Mike Corner, Finny. They’ve all agreed to a mutual truce with you and to show you hospitality whilst you’re here. I know they’ll cooperate.”

“How do you know that?” Draco asked.

“Because they’ve already given me their loyalty.”

“What about Crabbe and Goyle?” Draco asked.

“You need to stay away from those apes, at least for a while. If they can be civil to people outside of Slytherin, then we’ll see. For a long time they were pretty malleable, but now that I’m in the doghouse with Pansy, they’ve fallen back into their old habits, which is a real pisser.”

“Millie will cooperate,” Zabini said. “She and Greg broke up last week, and she’s looking to make his life difficult.”

“Great, let’s reel her in!” Nigel said.

“So how is all this supposed to come about?” Draco asked, still skeptical.

“During any meal for a while, you’ll need to sit with me, Blaise and Millie. I know a few Sixth Years and a group of Fifth Years who will cooperate, too. The trick is to show your contrition to the rest of the school, but to maintain your Slytherin identity.”

“That’s a pretty delicate balance, isn’t it?” Zabini asked, himself a little dubious.

“It works for you, doesn’t it?” Nigel said.

“My reputation is a bit less scandalous than Malfoy’s. It’s easier for me.”

“That doesn’t make it impossible for Malfoy.”

Draco laughed. “Excuse me, you two, but can you please talk TO me and not ABOUT me?”

“Sorry,” Nigel and Zabini said in unison.

Draco sighed. “OK, look, I’m willing to go through with this. I think I’m finally starting to see the wisdom behind this insane scheme. But I’m holding you to your promise, Nigel. Don’t let me down.”

“I won’t.”

Together, the three Slytherins made their way somewhat ceremoniously to the Great Hall for breakfast, along with the rest of the students. At first, little was said, as most of the students were too bleary-eyed and sleepy to notice much of anything at all. All were drawn by the fragrance of freshly cooked bacon and eggs and coffee, and not much else. Draco looked straight ahead, trying to ignore faces and just get to his breakfast. Nigel and Zabini stuck tightly to his side, forming a protective presence as they went. Nigel wordlessly uttered the Shield Charm and braced himself for what promised to be a contentious morning.

The students did not let him down.

The first incident occurred under the threshold of the Great Hall. A Ravenclaw Fifth Year, Rowan Haywood, spotted Draco from across the room and bellowed, “TRAITOR!” and then shot a massive hex in Draco’s direction. With a casual wave of a finger, Nigel redirected the hex in the direction of the window behind the Ravenclaw table, smashing it to smithereens and causing several Ravenclaws to take cover under the table.

Then, Nigel said, “Accio Haywood!” The Fifth Year was lifted off his feet and soared over the heads of the student body, but instead of landing in a heap, as everyone anticipated, he hovered before a furious Nigel, held by Nigel’s spell. With another move of his hand, he set Haywood carefully on his feet.

Then, Nigel got right in Haywood’s face. “What the hell do you think you were doing, Haywood?”

Haywood cowered. “I…I don’t…”

“What if you hit someone else? What if you hit a Prefect? What if you hit Professor McGonagall? What if you hit a First Year? How DARE you throw a hex like that in an open space! That is unacceptable!”

“I didn’t mean…” Haywood blubbered. “I saw HIM,” he said, pointing an angry finger at a horrified Draco, “and I was just trying…”

Nigel narrowed his eyes at him. “Trying what? To make yourself a hero or something?”

“He killed Professor Dumbledore!” Haywood said defiantly, gaining his nerve back.

“Did you know that he saved Harry Potter’s life just two weeks ago?” Nigel asked smoothly. “Did you?”

Haywood looked at Draco, unsure of how to react. “He saved…” he began.

“At great risk to his own life, as well. Did you know that? Did you know that he broke with You-Know-Who over three months ago?” Nigel said starkly. But then, seeing Haywood’s fear, Nigel softened. “Now look, Haywood, I want you to do something very brave, OK?”

“Yes, sir.”

Nigel put a hand on Haywood’s shoulder. “I want you to apologise to Mr. Malfoy, and I want you to shake hands with him, OK?”

The entire student body looked on in anticipation, wondering whether Haywood would comply or try to hex both Draco and Nigel. They could almost see Haywood’s mind working and deliberating as he screwed up his dark brown eyes toward the ceiling and then sighed dramatically. Haywood put out his hand.

“Sorry, Malfoy,” he said, barely audible. “Truce, OK?” They shook hands.

Nigel patted him on the back, as did Hermione, Ron, Ernie and Zach.

“Thank you, mate. Go on and eat your breakfast, Haywood,” Nigel said. 

Pointing his palm at the window, the glass pane quickly repaired itself. Without a word further, Nigel and Zabini steered Draco toward the breakfast buffet. Everyone kept a little distance from them, but continued to look on in shock and trepidation as their old nemesis, the boy who engineered the death of their beloved Headmaster, casually spooned eggs and bacon on his plate and followed their Head Boy to the Slytherin table. Some noticed, too, that they sat at the opposite end from Draco’s old cronies, and they also noticed that the occasional person from another house would stop by to shake hands with Draco before they trotted off to class. It wasn’t just Slytherins who greeted Draco—Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, a number of Gryffindors as well. Respected individuals, top students, Quidditch players, Prefects. By the end of breakfast, all talk centred around this strange welcome of the most hated boy at school.

Something had begun.


	20. Necessary Actions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nigel refrained from telling the others about Draco’ doubts. He supposed he wanted to give him one last chance to make good, hoping against hope that Draco would rethink his choice and show up to the meeting. Walking up the stairs to McGonagall’s office, Nigel tried to fill his heart with optimism. He tried to convince himself that Draco would be there, waiting for the next task to perform._
> 
> _But Draco was not there. Everyone else was, including Harry, Snape, looking again like himself, Lupin, McGonagall, Hermione, Ron, Shaklebolt—and for some reason, Vincent Crabbe._

Getting used to seeing Draco Malfoy around Hogwarts again was no small feat for the student body. After what had happened to Rowan Haywood in the Great Hall, most people were not interested in hexing Draco, fearing what Nigel could do to them. Plus, they didn’t want to lose House points, as Haywood had—Professor McGonagall took 75 points from Ravenclaw and gave him three weeks of detentions with Mr. Filch. 

But neither was Draco coddled or fawned over. McGonagall put him to work all over the castle, running errands, delivering messages, penning notes to other professors or to contacts outside Hogwarts. He was sent up to the Owlery about five times a day, to send and receive messages. He helped clean up classrooms after classes were over, took lost or forgotten books and supplies to the Lost and Found, and generally made sure that things looked well kempt around the castle. Several students took great pleasure in seeing Draco Malfoy fall to the level of servant, and often made extra messes for him to clean up. Nigel did nothing to stop this, feeling that a little humiliation was good for his friend.

Draco’s constant use of the Shield Charm protected him from the little hexes thrown at him from time to time—mostly they were harmless pranks, but hexes all the same. Just as Zabini predicted, the Hospital Wing filled with students hit by their own backfiring hexes. Draco found that amusing.

“Serves the little shits right,” he said bitterly. He sat with Nigel, Zabini, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Millie and Zach at the Slytherin table one night, finishing up spotted dick and treacle tarts.

Ginny laughed. Draco snarled at her. “OK, I confess,” she said jovially. “I seriously considered doing an extra special version of the bat-bogey hex on you, Draco, but I resisted.”

Zach grinned. “You didn’t want Nigel lobbing you over the heads of the students?”

“I’m afraid of heights!” she said.

“So are you surviving your first week back?” Hermione asked Draco.

Draco nodded. “I’m just doing my job and trying to avoid people,” he said, a little glum.

“I’m amazed there hasn’t been more trouble,” Zach said. “I was sure you’d be in the Hospital Wing by Monday afternoon, Malfoy. No offence of course.”

Draco flicked his eyebrows at Nigel. “I think Nigel took care of that possibility at breakfast,” he said. “You sure are a scary piece of work, Chaucer.”

Nigel laughed. “That was probably a bit of overkill,” he admitted.

“It sure made a lot of people think twice,” Zach said.

“I’m amazed McGonagall didn’t get you in trouble,” Zabini said, taking another tart. He glanced down at the opposite end of the table, at Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Rosier. “I wish I were a Legilimens,” he said. “I’m dying to know what they’re up to.”

“I can tell you that,” Millie said. “They’re all planning on telling their fathers that Malfoy is here.”

Draco frowned. “You mean they haven’t done that yet? Idiots.”

“They expected you to be the same,” Millie explained. “I can tell you that what Nigel said to Haywood about you breaking with the Dark Lord hit them all pretty hard. I’ve never heard that so much swearing from Rosier before.”

Zabini made a face. “All he does is swear!”

“Are you in danger, Nigel?” Neville asked, now terrified.

“I can take care of myself, Nev,” Nigel said. “Plus, I’ve put a lot of protection on myself.”

“A charm?” Hermione asked.

“A potion, actually.”

Draco laughed. “Figures. One of Snape’s old recipes, I expect?”

“Not quite. It’s a variation on something I found in the Library. Fred and George Weasley gave me a few ideas, and then I learned a little more from the proprietor of Flourish and Blotts. In fact, Malfoy, I should give you some. You take it once in the morning and once before bed.”

“What does it do?” Hermione asked, fascinated.

“It operates much like the Shield Charm, but in a more long-lasting way. As long as you keep it in your system, it works really well.” He grinned mischievously. “Want to test it?” he asked.

Ginny piped up. “I do! What shall it be, Nigel? Jelly legs or the Skating Boil hex?”

Nigel stood up. “Surprise me. And do it nonverbally.”

Ginny thought for a moment, and then with a slashing wave of her hand, sent a shaft of blue light at Nigel, which dissipated like fireworks. Everyone laughed.

“So what did you try?” Neville asked as they sat back down.

“I was trying to turn his face into a pig’s!”

They all laughed.

“What do you call this potion, Nigel?” Hermione asked.

Nigel shrugged. “It doesn’t really have a name.”

“I know someone else who could use this,” she said.

Nigel suddenly realised who she meant. “You’re absolutely right! He could use it!”

A group of Ravenclaw Fourth Year girls approached them, smiling kittenishly. “Hi, boys!” they said, giggling. One of the girls, a very pretty blonde, put her hand on Draco’s arm. “We just wanted to say good night to you all,” she said in a breathy voice.

Ginny and Hermione did all they could to suppress their revulsion, secretly giving each other looks as if they wanted to sick up their dinner.

“Well have a good night, then, ladies,” Nigel said.

The girls hesitated for a moment, but then sashayed off toward Ravenclaw House, waving delicately at Draco and Nigel before they went. The boys all burst into hysterics once the Ravenclaw girls were out of earshot. The girls rolled their eyes in derision.

“Oh my gods!” Zach cried. “That was beyond disgusting!”

Zabini turned to Draco in mock seduction. “Oh, Draco, you’re so HOT!” he breathed dramatically. “I want to jump your bones right here!”

Everyone laughed.

“I see the truth finally comes out,” Pansy Parkinson sneered, approaching them from the other side of the table. “We’ve known all about your proclivities for years, Zabini. It’s just a good thing that you’ve got a willing partner in Malfoy for your filthy business.”

“Can we help you, Parkinson?” Millie said, slightly hostile.

Pansy made a face. “Help me, Bullstrode? Are you mental? Oh yeah, you are! Greg told me all about your little habits! I nearly threw up!”

“What do you want, Pansy?” Nigel asked, trying to be polite.

She shrugged innocently. “Nothing. Just to give a belated welcome back to my own boyfriend. Sorry if I’m making you jealous, Nigel. Oh that’s right, you and Zabini share the same…well, I expect you share a lot of the same things.” She giggled wickedly.

“I think it’s lights out for you, Parkinson,” Zach said bravely.

“You’re telling ME what to do?” she said. “Please. Get over yourself, Smith. I just came over to tell Draco here that I’ll be waiting for him. He knows what I mean. Good night.” And without a further word, she turned on her heel and strode out of the Great Hall, Crabbe and Goyle following her close behind. Crabbe threw Draco a furtive, mournful glance, but quickly returned his attention to Pansy, doing his best to keep up.

“Blaise, you’ve got to work on Crabbe,” Nigel said. “He’s close. Very close.”

“What was that about?” Ginny asked Draco.

Draco grimaced. “I’ll have to see her, Nige.”

That didn’t sit well with Nigel. He stood up. “Can we talk, mate? Good night, guys.” He and Draco went out of the Great Hall quickly. Nigel led him outside and down toward the lake.

“What’s up, Chaucer?” Draco asked. “What’s with the secrecy all of a sudden?”

Nigel didn’t answer him for a moment. He plunged his hands in his pockets and walked. Draco followed. “What are you going to say to Pansy?”

“I have no idea, Nigel. I really don’t. It depends on what she wants from me.”

“Promise me you won’t have sex with her.”

“What?” Draco exclaimed. “What are you, my father?”

“I know you miss her…”

“This is madness! Why do you think I’m automatically going to have sex with her? And why is that your business anyway?”

“You’re in a difficult position right now, and you have to be careful. I’m not trying to play moral police here.”

Draco shook his head. “I think the power is going to your head, Chaucer. Look, all I’m going to do is see what she wants. If I don’t, it could make things worse.”

“Just promise me you’ll control yourself, OK, Draco?”

Draco stomped off toward the castle without another word to Nigel. All Nigel could do was watch him go. He fretted and worried, knowing that one slip of the tongue could spell disaster for everyone involved. Could Draco be trusted, Nigel wondered. Would he stay true or would he be seduced by Pansy once again? Nigel knew she could be very persuasive, very sensual and alluring in her more seductive moments. Draco had been with her before, and it was very likely that she would dredge up old memories to reel him in once again. After all, Draco was alone in the world, without comfort or companionship or…sex. He was particularly vulnerable at this moment, and Nigel prayed that his friend would stay strong.

His long walk out in the cold air got to his body in the worst possible way. By the end of his rounds that night, Nigel could barely stand up straight—his back ached horribly and his legs felt stiff and raw. Back in Slytherin House, he gathered up his Dumbledore biography and made his way to the Prefects’ bathroom to have a nice long soak in the bath. The water was so warm, so inviting, so magically perfect and soothing, and before long, Nigel could feel the pain in his body dissipating, dissolving into the water itself. He used a rainbow assortment of bubbles in his bath—purple, green, yellow and orange—each one with its own, unique scent and texture. He sighed and let his body relax.

Nigel didn’t hear the pop. Draco apparated soundlessly into the bathroom. Spotting Nigel nearly asleep in the bath, he quickly disrobed and climbed into the warm water.

“Nige,” he whispered, swimming closer to Nigel. He reached out and touched Nigel on the shoulder. Nigel jumped.

“Shit!” he shouted, jumping in fright. “Don’t do that to me!”

Draco laughed. “You were almost asleep, mate! I didn’t want you to drown!”

“How long have you been in here?”

“Just a couple of minutes.”

Nigel roused himself and splashed a little water on his face. “How did it go with Pansy tonight?”

“I didn’t bonk her, if that’s what you want to know. Actually, it went horribly wrong.” Draco dunked his head under the water to wet his hair.

“Do I really want to hear this?” Nigel asked.

“I don’t know,” Draco said glumly. “Maybe not. It’s just…I don’t know.” His face looked troubled.

Nigel swam closer to Draco. “What? What went on?”

Draco didn’t answer right off. He shut his eyes and ran his fingers through his wet hair. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”

Nigel eyed him carefully. “What do you mean?”

“I’m getting cold feet about all this.”

“That’s bullshit, Draco! You can’t do this!” Nigel seethed. “We need you in this! You can’t back out!”

“You don’t know what it’s like, Nigel!” Draco shouted back.

“Oh don’t give me that crap!”

“I’m all alone out there!”

“You are NOT! You have…”

Draco cut across him. “NO, that’s not what I mean! I know I have your friendship, but this is different! When you became a wizard, you didn’t really have to change essentially.”

“Of course I did! I gave up a lot to come here!”

“But not your beliefs, not your family ties!”

“You were given a lot of bad ideas growing up, Draco. You know that.”

“I know, Nigel, I know.” He frowned. “When I was with Pansy tonight, she said just about the worst thing possible to me. It wasn’t an insult or a breakup or anything like that. It was far worse. She said, ‘how can you do this to your mother?’”

“That’s not so bad, Draco,” Nigel said, trying to calm down.

Draco glared at him fiercely. “Of course it is! Look, I know my parents have some really wrong ideas about the world, but…I love them. They’re still my parents, no matter what they believe or what they’ve done! How can I just cut myself off from them? You’re C of E, right? You go to church with your parents, believe in all the theology, right?”

Nigel nodded. “Yeah.”

“Can you imagine what your parents would feel if you came home and told them you were now an atheist, or a Catholic or a Buddhist? Don’t you know how much that would hurt them?”

Nigel bit his lip. He understood. “Draco, I know this is difficult for you. You’ve given up a lot.”

“I’ve lost everything, everything in the world for this! No parents, no ideology, no home, no girlfriend, no real place at all. I’m not even in my own house here! I’m a guest! Lower than that, a servant, a pathetic lackey!”

“Please, Draco, think about this.”

“I am!” he growled. “I…I’ve already caused them so much grief, so much pain! How can I hurt them again?”

“If you go back to them, you risk destroying everything! If you give up Harry or tell them about the picture, then there’s no more redemption for you.” Nigel struggled to form his next words. “If you go back, Draco, I will see to it that you are arrested and put into Azkaban.”

Draco sat back, stunned by Nigel’s threat. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Nigel glared at Draco. “Try me.”

Enraged, Draco hoisted himself out of the bath and quickly got dressed. Before he walked out the door, Nigel, still in the bath, stopped him.

“There’s a meeting tomorrow evening in McGonagall’s office,” Nigel said without turning to face his friend. “Shaklebolt will be there to give us an update. Be there. Please.”

Without another word, Draco walked out the door, slamming it behind him, leaving Nigel panicked and horrified. The thought had occurred to him vaguely that his friend might break under the tremendous pressure placed on him, but Nigel trusted the power of their friendship to pull Draco through. But now, when everything was so close, Draco’s news was like a bombshell, threatening to blow apart everything hopeful and peaceful.

The entire next day, Nigel could barely concentrate in his classes. He was so angry and scared and grief-stricken that he was lucky just to arrive at his classes on time. Hermione noticed his distress and at lunchtime, took Nigel aside. They sat together on the floor in an empty corridor and talked under the Muffliato charm.

“What’s with you today?” she asked. “You melted a potion and failed a quiz in Transfiguration! That is entirely unlike you, Nigel! What’s going on? Did Lucy break up with you again?”

Nigel shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it, Hermione. It’s too awful.”

Hermione fretted. “What is it? Is it your family? Is someone ill? Lucy’s not pregnant is she?”

Nigel sighed impatiently. He got to his feet. “Of course not!”

“Then what is it? Tell me?”

“Why don’t you ask Draco Malfoy?” And with that, he stomped off back to the Great Hall to get his lunch.

Things didn’t go much better at the Slytherin table. Draco was nowhere to be seen, which filled Nigel with dread. He was sure Draco had run off in the night, back to his stupid father, back to the Dark Lord. They were doomed. Pansy’s snide attitude didn’t help things much. Normally, Nigel rather enjoyed rebuffing her, but today, he was in no mood for her barbs. There she sat, like a little queen, surrounded by her fawning girlfriends and those apes, Crabbe and Goyle, looking more and more stupid as time dragged on. 

Nigel could just catch snatches of what she said—“He’s totally gay…that’s what I heard from June…yes! Right in the corridor! I’m surprised they weren’t caught!...well he’s always been a mama’s boy…at least five last year, I’m sure!...”

Nigel had enough. He pushed his half-eaten lunch aside and retreated to the Library, where he found a dark corner and just sat and fumed. Nigel glanced out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Draco, but saw only the other students. He saw Austin Harpe chasing a First Year and laughing, and he saw Hagrid feeding Fang. No Draco. Nigel despaired, wondering if he’d ever see his friend again.

* * * * *

For a reason he couldn’t discern, Nigel refrained from telling the others about Draco’ doubts. He supposed he wanted to give him one last chance to make good, hoping against hope that Draco would rethink his choice and show up to the meeting. Walking up the stairs to McGonagall’s office, Nigel tried to fill his heart with optimism. He tried to convince himself that Draco would be there, waiting for the next task to perform.

But Draco was not there. Everyone else was, including Harry, Snape, looking again like himself, Lupin, McGonagall, Hermione, Ron, Shaklebolt—and for some reason, Vincent Crabbe.

“Hey, all,” Nigel said. “I see the cabal is here.”

Snape smirked. “Right on time.”

“Unlike in Transfiguration today,” McGonagall said darkly.

“Where’s Malfoy?” Lupin asked.

“I don’t know,” Nigel replied.

“Right behind you, mate,” Draco said, crossing the threshold.

Nigel turned around and threw himself into Draco’ arms, unable to control his joy and relief.

“Hey! Watch it, Chaucer!” Draco said, laughing. “You don’t want to validate Pansy’s rumours about me, do you?”

“You’re late,” Snape said.

“You’re here!” Nigel said, feeling quite stupid now. “I’m just so relieved!”

“Thought I did a runner?”

“Something like that.”

Draco sat down on a chair before McGonagall’s desk. “It’s been a long day,” he said casually. “So, what’s going on?”

Kingsley motioned for them all to take a seat. “I have invited Mr. Crabbe here for a very important reason,” he began. “He is, as the muggles would say, a mole.”

All eyes fell on a very uncomfortable Crabbe. He suddenly looked smaller than usual, soft and vulnerable and scared. He twiddled his thumbs nervously. Nigel could see the sweat forming on Crabbe’s broad, spotty forehead.

“Now then, Mr. Crabbe has brought us some very important information,” Kingsley said. “He informed me that You-Know-Who will arrive for a very crucial meeting at Malfoy Manor in two days’ time.”

“Mr. Crabbe,” Lupin said, “how did you hear about this?”

Crabbe hesitated, but when Draco gave him a little nod, he spoke. “Well, uh, my uh, dad uh, told me.”

Nigel goggled the improbability, both of Vincent Crabbe sitting in that room with an Auror, a muggle-born and Harry Potter, and of his being a mole, of all things. Nigel wasn’t sure which was the more outrageous. Still, Crabbe seemed intent on being there, and no one seemed to raise an objection to his presence.

“Your dad?” Draco said, incredulous. “Why would he give away such a detail?”

Crabbe shrugged. “I dunno. We all owled our dads before about stuff going on, and then he owled me back about what they were doing.”

“Why would you turn spy, Vince?” Nigel asked. “That’s quite a risk.”

Crabbe blushed. “I dunno. I just thought that, uh, well, if Malfoy got treated okay by you, then maybe you would treat me good, too.”

Snape suppressed a grin of pride in his cousin. Nigel looked to McGonagall for direction, but she seemed to be waiting for him to say something to Crabbe.

“Well yeah, Vince, I mean, if what you say is genuine,” Nigel said.

“It is!” Crabbe exclaimed. “And I didn’t like what Parkinson said about you and Zabini, either. And then, when I told her to shut up, she hexed me.”

“Mr. Crabbe came to me this afternoon,” Kingsley said. “We ran into each other on the stairs. He was very eager to speak.”

“I suppose you made promises to him?” Snape queried.

“Naturally. It wouldn’t be fair to him otherwise. Mr. Crabbe has put his life at risk by coming forward,” Kingsley said.

“Vince,” Nigel said, “do the others know you’re here?”

Crabbe shook his head no.

“What other details did your father give you?” Nigel asked.

“Just that the Dark Lord knows that Draco’s here and that he’s pretty mad about it. He wants Mr. Malfoy to take Draco out personally cause he wants to test his loyalty.”

“What if Draco were to sort of repent?” Nigel asked.

“What?” Crabbe said.

“What?” Harry said.

“What?” Draco said, mortified. “Why would I do such a stupid thing, Chaucer?”

“What we talked about last night in the…well, last night, it just makes me think of something,” Nigel mused.

“Not another outrageous idea,” Hermione murmured.

“No, it’s just that, it would be a great set-up. On the other hand, Draco would very likely get killed. Never mind.”

“What about that potion you made?” Draco asked. “The shield one? Does it protect against Avada Kedavra?”

Nigel scowled. “Well it’s not like you can really test it out.”

“True.”

“What’s this you’re thinking, Chaucer?” Snape asked.

“If Draco were to sort of present himself before his father and before the Dark Lord, then everyone would be in the room at the same time, and our ability to invade the place would be a lot easier.” Nigel paused. “But it’s pretty risky.”

“If I take that potion,” Draco said, “I’d be willing to risk it.”

Snape looked troubled. “What is this potion, Chaucer? It’s not something I taught you.”

“No, sir. It’s a bit of an invention of mine. Sort of. I sort of tweaked an existing potion.”

“Tweaked?” Snape asked, very curious. “I’m impressed.”

Nigel blushed. “Thank you, sir.”

After three long hours of debating, arguing, plotting and conniving, the group had finally worked out a risky plan to bring the war to an end. They could only hope that Harry, Draco and Nigel would survive.


	21. Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a bit violent...

Nigel spent the next two days gathering a small group of collaborators who would assist them in their upcoming invasion of Malfoy Manor. He had to choose carefully, and ask them more surreptitiously. His natural first choices were recommended by Harry and Ron—members of the D.A. who had studied Defence Against the Dark Arts two years ago. These were people who were both skilled and trustworthy. Nigel also lobbied certain teachers—Professor Flitwick, Professor Grubbly-Plank, Professor Sprout, Madame Hooch, and of course, Madame Pomfrey. All of them agreed.

That was the easy part.

The difficult part for Nigel was convincing himself that they were doing the right thing. He knew what was at stake, of course, but as Zero Hour approached, he started to understand how Draco felt the other day, cold feet and all. After all, what if he got killed? How would that affect his parents? Nigel hadn’t even told his parents, his muggle friends or Lucy what he was up to. In recent weeks he had been very sketchy with any details of his doings at school beyond lessons, exams and Head Boy issues. Nothing about the war, about his trips to London, about being attacked in Hyde Park or about rescuing a friend from the clutches of a werewolf. Nigel couldn’t imagine what his parents would say if he told them that.

Was it fair to his parents to put his life at risk like this? Were they being too reckless in their plan? Nigel’s heart told him no, but in his weaker moments, he nearly relented. The only thing that gave him faith and hope were the kind words and wild confidence of his peers. So many of the students looked to Nigel for nearly everything by this point, including their safety. How could he betray them because of skittishness? This was a time to be strong, to be a man, to be ready for the worst and to expect the best, both from himself and from others.

The morning of the invasion, Nigel visited Draco in his room, to go over the final details. Draco would soon leave Hogwarts and, as planned, present himself before his father, begging for mercy in exchange for information.

“You ready?” he asked Draco. They sat by the window, looking out at Austin Harpe, who was making parchment hats for the First Years.

“No. Yes. As ready as I’ll ever be. I’ve got the potion here in my pocket.”

“Remember not to take it until you’re at the gates of Malfoy Manor. A long swig of it will last you about six hours, so don’t drink it all. Save a little for later.”

“Right.”

“So let’s hear your story again, just to be sure.”

Draco sighed impatiently. “We’ve gone over it already!”

“Humour me, OK?”

“Right. Fine. I throw myself on my knees, cry a lot and beg him to hear me out.”

“The Dark Lord will be there. How will you handle that?”

“By using Occlumency.”

“What else?”

“By telling the truth and not being too obviously sycophantic. He hates fawners.”

Nigel grasped Draco by the arms. “He will likely use the Cruciatus Curse on you. Are you ready for that?”

With a little shudder, Draco nodded. He swallowed, hard. “I should be used to it by now, right? I’ll just have to hope your potion works against it.” He tried to force a laugh.

Nigel’s heart broke just a little, and he pulled Draco into a warm embrace. “I think you’re amazing,” he said.

Draco gave Nigel a light kiss on the cheek and pulled away. “Shut up, Chaucer,” he said. “You’re making me blush. Look, mate, just be sure you don’t let me go too long in there, OK? If that potion doesn’t work, I’m going to be in trouble. I really do hate the Cruciatus Curse.”

“Hermione and I will lie in wait. Once we see all of you in your father’s library, the invasion will start.”

“Just be sure the Dark Lord is in the room, too. I’ll see to it the door gets locked so they can’t get away.” Draco paused. “You know that some of our side might not survive, right? You might die, too.”

“Any one of us is in danger. We can’t let that stop us. Our goal is to protect Harry long enough for him to kill the Dark Lord.”

“There will be more than just thirteen Death Eaters there, Nigel. The Dark Lord will have a whole entourage with him, especially to watch my father kill me. They’ll have great sport with that.”

Before he left the room, Nigel paused. “What was that kiss all about?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seemed…necessary. Don’t worry, though. I swear I won’t ask you out on a date to the Hog’s Head.” He laughed.

“I’d have to turn you down anyway, mate. I don’t think my girlfriend would really go for that notion. She doesn’t like to share.”

They laughed.

“Draco, thanks again for this,” Nigel said.

“Say, does this mean you won’t have me arrested?”

“Not today anyway.”

* * * * *

Remus Lupin, with the help of Ron, moved the picture of Adam and Eve into McGonagall’s office. Hermione and Nigel climbed in, while the others waited anxiously for any news. Harry stood still, fully focused on what he had to face in the next few hours. Snape sat quietly in McGonagall’s chair, eyes shut, waiting. No one spoke. The others stood nervously, wands at the ready, anxious for the signal from Hermione and Nigel to act.

At the other end of the picture, Nigel and Hermione crouched behind the shrub, watching and listening. For a long time nothing happened, and Nigel began to have a sick feeling that Draco might have already been tortured and killed. He prayed fervently that his friend was still alive and unhurt. Then they heard a loud thump, and a shout—a woman’s voice, not Draco’s—and finally, the door flew open. A furious Lucius Malfoy stormed inside, followed by an anguished Narcissa, an indignant Bellatrix Lestrange, a ravenous Fenrir Greyback and a number of other, equally vicious looking Death Eaters. But where was Draco? Where was the Dark Lord? There was absolutely no sign of either, nor of the supposed entourage.

“You cannot back out of this, Lucius!” Bellatrix shouted at him. “You swore to the Dark Lord!”

“He’s my SON, dammit!” Lucius shouted back.

“You have no choice!” Greyback growled. “Lucius! Get a hold of yourself!”

“Draco has shown that he is contrite,” Narcissa said. “That should be enough for the Dark Lord! It’s inhuman to subject Draco to more torment! It’s not right!”

“Pettigrew is reviving him right now,” Bellatrix said. “Perhaps the boy can still argue his case. They’re coming in soon.”

A few agonizingly long minutes passed in which no Draco and no Dark Lord appeared. Come on, Nigel thought frantically. Hurry. And then they came, dozens of them, hooded, cloaked, entirely menacing in every respect. They gathered in the library, forming a semi circle. The room was ominously quiet. The door to the library opened again. First entered Peter Pettigrew, in all his ratlike repulsiveness, holding the end of a chain. Nigel swallowed a gasp as they saw Draco Malfoy stumbling in at the other end of the chain, his hands manacled. A thin, long bruise cut across his face, and his pallor looked drained of energy. Nigel’s heart skipped a beat.

“What do we do?” Hermione mouthed to Nigel. Her face was chalk white.

“Wait,” Nigel mouthed back.

Fenrir Greyback grabbed the chain from Pettigrew and jerked it hard, causing Draco to fall forward on his face. The Death Eaters laughed menacingly—Lucius Malfoy was mortified. Narcissa sobbed pitifully. Two hulking Death Eaters roughly pulled Draco to his feet. The door opened again.

In marched the Dark Lord himself, looking more snakelike than ever. His eyes flashed a furious red as he imperiously acknowledged his prostrate and subservient minions as he passed their bowed heads. Draco remained on his feet, however. The Dark Lord raised his hand in an attempt to force him to his knees, but nothing happened.

“Curious,” the Dark Lord purred silkily. “Another little boy resistant to a hex. Let’s test this out further. CRUCIO!!!” he bellowed, pointing his wand at Draco’s heart.

Nothing.

The Death Eaters murmured amongst themselves, wondering what could have happened. But the Dark Lord had other things on his mind. Offering only a pleasant grin, he approached Draco, who stood calmly before him, chin held high, shoulders and spine proudly erect.

“Shield Charm?” the Dark Lord queried. In a flash, he slammed his fist into Draco’s stomach, then his jaw, sending Draco to the floor. “CRUCIO!!!” he shouted again, his wand pointed at Draco’s head.

Nothing. Only gasping and coughing from the blow to the stomach. The Dark Lord grabbed Draco by the back of the collar and ripped him up from the floor, back on his feet.

He knew it was coming—imminently. Nigel mouthed to Hermione to fetch Harry, who stood just ten paces behind them. They returned to Nigel’s side, crouching low to avoid being seen by anyone in the library. Ginny, who had stood at Harry’s side, dashed back to McGonagall’s office to fetch the others. They returned, all fifteen of them, with Snape leading them, waiting for Nigel’s signal to move in. A group of Aurors brought up the rear, led by Kingsley Shaklebolt. Nigel could feel them behind him, sense their anticipation.

The Dark Lord struck Draco again in the face with his fist. A trickle of blood slithered down Draco’s chin and neck. He stood his ground. The Dark Lord stepped back and surveyed him from top to bottom, a glance of loathing in his cold eyes.

“Your father tells me you have come to repent,” he said softly.

“Yes, sir,” Draco said. Nigel could hear the pain in his voice.

“If you please, sir,” Lucius interjected.

“You may NOT,” the Dark Lord shot back, returning his attention to Draco. He pressed his hand against Draco’s face, wiping away the stream of blood still flowing from his nose.

“Thank you, sir,” Draco said.

“Why should I absolve you of your treachery, young Mr. Malfoy?” the Dark Lord asked dangerously. “This is not the first time you have disappointed me with your ineptitude and insolence.”

“I have information.” Draco kept his eyes directed at the floor, away from the Dark Lord’s searing gaze. “I can hand you Harry Potter. Today if you want.”

That was the signal Nigel waited for. He stood up, thrust his hands outward and up so that all the hundreds of books on the library shelves flew out and rained down on the throng of Death Eaters. A couple of Death Eaters were knocked unconscious by the heavy books falling on their heads, but most did their best to shield themselves in the sudden chaos. Nigel leapt out of the picture, followed by Hermione, Harry, Snape and the others, wands firing jinx after jinx, deflecting counterjinxes from the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord grabbed Draco and kept a tight hold on him, using him as protection against any unfriendly jinxes from the invaders. Both Death Eaters and a couple of invaders were felled by jinxes. One Death Eater was dead.

No one saw Snape fall in the midst of the fray. Fenrir Greyback had fired a forceful stunning spell which knocked Snape off his feet—as he catapulted backward, he struck his head on the edge of the table and landed unconscious in a pool of blood.

Finally, with a grand sweep of the hand, Nigel produced a powerful binding charm, which affected everyone except Harry, Draco, Kingsley and the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord bowed his head to acknowledge Nigel’s power.

“Very nice, Mr. Chaucer,” he said in mock admiration. “I have heard of your power, and now I see that it is true. Unfortunately, it will not save your friend here from a premature death.” He pointed his wand at Draco’s head. “Any attempt to kill me will result in his death.” The Dark Lord conjured up a very sharp knife, which gleamed and glittered in the candlelight. Draco looked at Nigel and Harry coolly, with great resignation.

“Let me go,” he said to them. “It’s OK.”

Nigel threw a glance at Harry, and then pointed his wand right at Draco. Before the Dark Lord could plunge the knife into Draco’s heart, it shot out of his hand, clattering to the floor on the other side of the room. The suddenness of charm caught the Dark Lord off guard, and within that split second, his grip on Draco loosened, and Harry pointed his wand at the Dark Lord shouting, “AVADA KEDAVRA!!!”

His fall to the floor was almost graceful, epic in scope and drama, his shocked expression contorting his ruined face. He slumped against Draco at first, and then dropped back, crumpling in a lifeless heap.

No one moved for a moment.

“My gods, Harry,” Nigel murmured. “You did it. He’s dead.”

Harry stood as if paralysed, barely able to comprehend what had just happened. All those years, all that pressure and pain and deprivation suddenly melted, disappeared into a distant past. Nigel nudged him back to his senses. Harry had no words for this moment.

Kingsley, Draco and Lupin gathered at his side, looking with wonder and horror at the sight of the Dark Lord’s dead body, still trying to comprehend the immensity of the moment.

“We have work to do here,” Kinglsey said. He began the process of disarming each of the Death Eaters and binding their hands and feet. 

Nigel, Harry and Draco helped. They went from person to person, still under the power of Nigel’s spell, and tied their hands and feet. There were so many—more than anyone imagined. That was when Nigel saw him, as he was putting the final knot in the ropes around Bellatrix Lestrange’s feet. The colour drained from Nigel’s face as he realised what he was looking at. Severus Snape lay unconscious on the floor near the table, bleeding profusely from a gash on the back of his head. His face and hands had turned ashen and deathly pallid. Nigel panicked.

He dropped to his knees and shouted at Snape. “Severus? Severus!” He jostled him a little, and then harder. No movement. “SEVERUS!” Nigel cried out. He frantically felt Snape’s pulse. His skin was ice cold—there was a look of imminent death about his face. “No, no no, please, no,” he whispered desperately.

Kingsley had already brought the other invaders out of Nigel’s spell. He and Lupin rushed to Nigel’s side.

“Get help!” Nigel cried. “GET HELP!!! Get Madame Pomfrey! He’s bleeding to death! HELP HIM!” Nigel tore off his school robe and threw it over Snape. Harry came over and offered his robe as well, as did Lupin.

“Don’t touch him,” Lupin said. “Don’t move him.”

Madame Pomfrey arrived through the picture, medical bag in hand, ready for the worst. She elbowed her way through the little crowd which had formed around the unconscious Snape and a sobbing, distraught Nigel.

“Out of the way!” she ordered.

Everyone moved back whilst she opened her bag and went to work on Snape. Nigel wept uncontrollably. Both Draco and Hermione wrapped protective arms around him to keep him calm. After a few frantic minutes, Madame Pomfrey stood up and shut her bag. She looked very grave, very stern. Nigel felt his knees weaken, and before he knew it, he had collapsed to the floor, caught at the last moment by Draco and Hermione. They held him up whilst Madame Pomfrey delivered the news.

“We need to move him to the Hospital Wing…” she began.

“Why?” Draco said. “Move him up to my room. I’ll show you the way. It’s closer.”

She nodded. “Yes, yes, alright.”

With a wave of their wands, Lupin and Kingsley lifted up the nearly lifeless Snape and floated him carefully up the winding staircase, down the hall and into Draco’s massive bedroom. Everyone marveled at the sheer luxury of the room, with its elegant canopied bed, lush thick Persian rugs and decadent furnishings everywhere. Draco quickly pushed down the thick silk duvet so that Snape could rest comfortably on the soft cotton sheets. Lupin and Nigel pulled the duvet around Snape’s shoulders while Madame Pomfrey worked on the wound on the back of his head. Nigel hovered near the bed, desperate to help, filled with terror and grief, aching from the potential loss of his beloved cousin.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Give me some space,” she said hurriedly.

“Is he going to be OK?” Nigel asked. “Is he going to die?”

Lupin put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Let’s let her do her work,” he said. “Come on, let’s go outside.”

“No,” Nigel said, crying anew. “No! I can’t leave him! I need to be with him!”

“Nigel,” Lupin said, “you’ll be right outside. Once she’s done dressing his wound, you can come back in. He’s in good hands. Come.” Taking a reluctant Nigel by the arm, Lupin led him out into the corridor.

Overwhelmed by emotion, Nigel sank to the floor and wept again. Harry sat next to him on one side, Draco on the other side. The three put their heads together and hoped.

* * * * *

The night passed quietly, motionlessly. A single owl flew past, not stopping at Malfoy Manor. With the dawn came a sharp chill in the clean, crisp air. The clouds had turned from black to purple, and as the sun rose over the horizon, the sky turned soft shades of pink and orange and then, sparkling blue. Harry, Hermione and the others had fallen asleep, but Nigel remained awake, still waiting for a word from Madame Pomfrey. Exhausted and nearly out of his mind with worry, Nigel decided to see how things were progressing in Draco’s room. He expected the very worst, imagined Madame Pomfrey delivering the bad news, wondered how he would react.

In the room, Madame Pomfrey sat in a chair beside the bed, fast asleep. Nigel approached the bed, fearing what he would see. Snape lay very still, his head heavily bandaged. His pallour looked slightly improved, slightly more pink. Nigel traced Snape’s brow with his fingertips, then bent forward and gave his cousin a tender kiss on the cheek. Snape stirred slightly, drew in his breath, then fell back to sleep. Nigel sat lightly on the edge of the bed and stroked Snape’s arm, hoping to bring a little colour back into his strong hands. Again, Snape stirred slightly. A little grunt escaped his lips, but again, he fell back to sleep.

The door opened softly behind him. A familiar voice.

“Nigel?” he whispered.

Nigel turned around, elated by who he saw in the doorway. “Dad!” he whispered, rushing to embrace his father out in the corridor. “What are you doing here? How did you get here?” Nigel said through new tears.

“Your blond friend here,” Mr. Chaucer said, indicating a rather sheepish looking Draco Malfoy standing in the corner next to Remus Lupin. “He took me on the most terrifying journey of my life!”

“You apparated?” Nigel asked, astounded. “When? How?”

“And he and the professor told me everything. Everything, Nigel.” Nigel didn’t like the tone of his father’s voice. He would have to explain.

“I wanted to tell you, dad, but I couldn’t! A lot of this was top secret!”

“What were you thinking?” he said, trying not to shout. “How could you keep this from us? What if you had been killed? According to what I’ve heard, you damn near did get killed! Didn’t you think of how your mother and I would feel if you had died?”

“I’m so sorry, dad, really,” Nigel said. He was six years old again, being scolded for his recklessness. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Mr. Chaucer immediately threw his arms around his son and held him like he really was six years old.

“I’m so glad you’re safe, son,” Mr. Chaucer said.

“Your son,” Lupin said, “is a true hero. He risked his own life to save the lives of many others. The man lying in that room was saved by Nigel’s quick action and compassion. Many would have let Severus die, but not Nigel.”

“We could not have done this without Nigel,” Harry said.

“It’s true,” Hermione said.

“He saved my life more than once,” Draco told him.

“Mine, too,” Harry said.

Nigel turned very red as he felt so many admiring eyes on him. He wanted to shrink just then, hide away in some private cave where he could find peace and rest. He wanted to sit with his cousin again, watch him wake up and return to life. To Nigel’s great relief, the door to Draco’s room opened and Madame Pomfrey stepped into the corridor.

“He wants to see you, Nigel,” she said.

He was now sitting up, partly at least. He held a cup of water in one hand. When Nigel entered the room, Snape’s face lit up with pleasure.

“Hi,” Nigel said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Have you been here all night?” Snape croaked.

“Yeah.”

Snape caressed Nigel’s cheek for a moment, looking intently at his tired face. “All that for a bump on the head?”

“You almost died!” Nigel insisted. “You could have bled to death!”

“Perhaps. You look awful,” he said.

Nigel laughed.

“You’ve been crying.” Snape frowned a little.

“I thought you were…I was worried about your health.” Nigel could feel another sob arise, but he suppressed it.

“I’m so proud of you, Nigel,” he said. “You make me wish I were a father.”

That was too much for Nigel. Exhaustion, anxiety, stress, grief and joy overcame Nigel and all he could do any more was bury his face in his hands and sob. “I’m such a fool,” he blubbered. “It seems like all I’ve been doing for hours is just cry like an idiot!”

“You’re tired. You’ve been through a lot in the last few days. It’s OK to let it out.”

Nigel sniffled and dried his face with his sleeve. “A Healer from St. Mungo’s will be here soon to be sure you’re OK. Madame Pomfrey thinks you’ll be on your feet tomorrow.”

“I want you to do something for me, Nigel,” Snape said.

“What do you need?”

“I need you to get some sleep. I want you to rest and let me take care of myself. You’re in a terrible state right now. I’m going to be fine.”

Nigel nodded.

Draco offered everyone a place to rest for the rest of the night. A team of Aurors had already transported the Death Eaters to Azkaban, leaving the massive manor house nearly empty and very still. Draco busied himself making his guests comfortable in the downstairs salon, where the house elves served fresh coffee and scones and fruit on opulent silver platters and delicate porcelain cups. Nigel, on the other hand, retired to one of the many guest rooms to get some rest. No sooner did his head hit the pillow that Nigel fell into a deep sleep.


	22. Honours and Congratulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Witches and wizards from all over the world came to the outdoor arena for the great celebration of the passing of Lord Voldemort and the imprisonment of over 60 Death Eaters. People came not just from England and Scotland, but from Ireland, France, Spain, the United States, Canada, Brazil, Japan, Bulgaria, Poland, Zaire, Kenya and beyond. Nigel had never seen such a crowd before, never heard so many different languages spoken in a single space. Even a few giants showed up for the festivities. It was like a massive sporting event, not so different from World Cup Football, but ten times bigger._

“Nigel?”

A hand on his shoulder. Nigel grunted and went back to sleep.

“Nigel! Wake up!”

“Mmm.” He was dreaming of Lucy teaching Transfiguration to a group of miniature Death Eaters and House Elves.

A rough shake.

“Nigel!” Draco said harshly.

Nigel sat up blearily, rubbing his heavy eyes. “What time is it?”

“Half past three. The Minister’s here.”

Minister? “Minister?”

“The Minister for Magic. Rufus Scrimgeour. He’s here to see you.”

“Me?” Nigel struggled out of bed, nearly catching his foot in a tangle of sheets.

“Well, not just you. But all of us have already made our statements, and he’s had a long chat with Potter. He talked to your dad, too. And to Snape.”

Nigel’s heart leapt for joy. “He’s up? He’s OK?”

“He’s been up for hours.” Draco threw him a new robe and headed for the door. “Get dressed. We’re all waiting for you.”

Nigel found them in the dining room, finishing lunch and going through what looked like a great mound of paperwork. It wasn’t just Rufus Scrimgeour who had come to visit. He brought along with him his secretary, Percy Weasley, three assistants, his undersecretary and her assistants, plus a bevy of other interested Ministry officials, including the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the head of the Auror Office. Carrying their clipboards and notebooks, they wandered through the library, Lucius Malfoy’s private offices, Narcissa Malfoy’s morning room and study, and other parts the house—they took notes, consulted, chatted in serious tones, sounding very official.

The Minister and all the Ministry officials stood up when Nigel entered the room, gazing upon him as if he were a great conqueror. Scrimgeour rushed forward to shake Nigel’s hand. The whole scene spooked Nigel a bit, and he sensed something drastic.

“Mr. Chaucer, I have not yet had the great honour of meeting you,” he said, almost reverently. “I believe I was out of town when you were last in London. I have, of course, read the most extraordinary things about you, and now I see that they are all true.”

Nigel hardly knew what to say. “Oh, well thank you, Minister. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”

Scrimgeour beamed. “I have had a wonderful talk already with your father. I told him how proud of you he should be. He told me about your accident and about the blood transfusion from the Weasley twins. Amazing! Now then, Mr. Chaucer, we have much to discuss. I of course need to take a statement from you, and I also wish to make a proposition to you.”

Nigel explained the whole story to the Minister and assembled officials, from the initial errand given to him by Professor McGonagall, to the search of the castle, to all their efforts to get Harry into Hogwarts, and finally, the events of the invasion of Malfoy Manor. The entire room was completely silent as he told the long and detailed story. Nigel made sure to highlight the efforts of Hermione, Lupin, Zabini, Millie, Ron, Crabbe, Snape and especially Draco.

“It was all for Harry’s sake, of course,” he concluded. “We had to do all we could to get him in the school.”

Mr. Chaucer wasn’t completely satisfied, however. He still looked horrified at what had just happened. “What I don’t understand, Minister, is why the school would put this kind of burden on the shoulders of a seventeen year-old boy. Had he been killed, the school would be liable.”

“If I may, Mr. Chaucer,” Lupin said, “this was not specifically a school issue. Professor McGonagall, Severus and I, as well as Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are members of the Order of the Phoenix. We were acting on the part of the Order, not the school.”

“Quite so,” Snape said. “It just so happened that the one thing Potter needed was located in the school, placed there by Lord Voldemort many years ago. Nigel acted out of generosity and kindness, not under orders.”

“Let us come rightly to the next issue at hand, Nigel,” Scrimgeour said. “I have already spoken to Mr. Potter, who tells me he intends to train as an Auror after he leaves Hogwarts. I think that’s a marvelous idea.”

“I…” Nigel began.

“I had something else in mind for you, actually, not an Auror.”

“Actually, sir,” Nigel said. “I was thinking of training as a Healer. When I was a muggle, I wanted to be a doctor. Now that I’m a wizard, being a Healer seems a natural decision for me.”

Scrimgeour pursed his lips. “Actually, Mr. Chaucer, I want to offer you a position in my office.”

“What?” Nigel exclaimed. “Your office? Doing what?”

“More than just delivering papers, I wager. I know you will make a wonderful Healer—Severus tells me you are a remarkable potions master, a true prodigy.”

“That’s true,” Draco said. “His shield potion saved me from torture last night. And he made a potion last year that healed some pretty bad injuries I got from the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters.”

“See, here’s what I think,” Scrimgeour said. “Nigel, I believe you have a very rare gift, one that I have only seen in one other person—Albus Dumbledore. In fact, I think you have surpassed him. You have done what no witch or wizard has been able to since the days of Salazar Slytherin’s departure from Hogwarts, and it has nothing to do with magic. You have unified Hogwarts. I hear reports of collaboration among the houses, Slytherins and Gryffindors becoming friends, all sorts of previously unthinkable things. This whole enterprise last night was the result of such collaboration. That came from you, from your compassion and your leadership. That’s what I want in my office. The wizarding world needs you.”

Snape gave Nigel an I-told-you-so smirk. Nigel frowned.

“I’m only seventeen, sir,” he said. “My birthday isn’t until July 31.”

“Hey!” Harry exclaimed. “That’s my birthday, too!”

“Curious,” Lupin remarked.

“Lucky day,” Ron said.

Scrimgeour remained serious. “I don’t give a damn about age, Nigel. I care about talent, about what a man has to offer. You have much to give, and you have the energy to do it.”

“Can I think about it, sir?” Nigel asked. “Can I tell you in a couple of weeks?”

Scrimgeour smiled. “That would be fine. Just send me an owl with your reply. Or better yet, come to see me. There is much work to be done. Not all of You-Know-Who’s supporters and sympathizers are in Azkaban. We need to bring them to our side, and quickly. What we don’t want is his supporters trying to continue his legacy of terror.”

That heartened Nigel. “I’ll let you know soon, sir. I’ll have to discuss this with my family first. My mother as well as my father.”

“Precisely,” Mr. Chaucer said.

“Good!” Scrimgeour exclaimed. “Now then, there’s just one more thing. Mr. Potter wasn’t too keen on this, but I hope you will be more willing. The death of You-Know-Who, that is, Lord Voldemort, is a major event in the history of magic, as I’m sure you can appreciate. It is of massive importance, and we all need to celebrate our collective victory.”

“I’m all for a good party, sir,” Nigel said.

“Oh, this won’t be just any little party, Nigel,” Scrimgeour said. “This is going to be a massive celebration, a feast to end all feasts, an event that will make the Quidditch World Cup seem like a day at the park! We’re in the beginning stages of the plan.”

Nigel glanced over at a very apprehensive Harry. “What?” he said.

Harry sighed. “Look, Minister, we’ve had this discussion before. I really don’t want to be used by the Ministry to…”

“This is entirely different, Harry!” Scrimgeour exclaimed. “This isn’t about posing or making appearances! You and Nigel have done something extraordinary for the wizarding world, and we simply wish to honour your efforts.”

“You’re not talking laurel leaves or anything, are you?” Nigel asked, now equally as apprehensive as Harry. Snape snorted in derision and rolled his eyes.

“We have something far more substantial in store for you two,” the Undersecretary to the Minister said.

“I know this is all very uncomfortable for both of you,” Scrimgeour said sympathetically. “The two of you are perhaps too humble to realise just how much the rest of us really need to thank you. Part of generosity is allowing the recipient of your good acts to thank you properly. Surely you understand that.”

Nigel understood. Harry, though a bit less understanding, finally relented.

“Sir,” Nigel said. “Will this ceremony be in a place where my parents can attend? And my girlfriend?”

“Isn’t she a muggle?” Lupin asked.

“Her aunt is a witch. Lucy knows all about the wizarding world. And I’d like to invite my two best friends, Jimmy and Clive. I told them, too. I was sort of put in a position where I had to tell them. I couldn’t continue to lie to them, sir. They have sworn not to say anything about it to others.”

Scrimgeour looked very cross, but said nothing.

* * * * *

**_May 1, 1998_ **

Witches and wizards from all over the world came to the outdoor arena for the great celebration of the passing of Lord Voldemort and the imprisonment of over 60 Death Eaters. People came not just from England and Scotland, but from Ireland, France, Spain, the United States, Canada, Brazil, Japan, Bulgaria, Poland, Zaire, Kenya and beyond. Nigel had never seen such a crowd before, never heard so many different languages spoken in a single space. Even a few giants showed up for the festivities. It was like a massive sporting event, not so different from World Cup Football, but ten times bigger.

The atmosphere was joyous, almost wild with excitement. People had become bold, daring to speak Voldemort’s name for the first time in their lives without fear of reproach or curse. They zoomed about on brooms and illegal flying carpets, shot colourful sparks into the sky from their wands, danced and sang and drank and caroused and most of all, became like one united family.

In the Minister’s box, the special guests of the honourees were gathering. Harry invited the Weasleys, the Grangers, Neville and his Grandmother, the Lovegoods, the Finnegans, the Jordans, the Thomas family and of course, Hagrid and Madame Maxime. He actually invited the Dursleys, hoping faintly that they might decide to come, but they never replied. Harry quickly dismissed their rejection, unsurprised. Nigel invited his parents, Lucy and her family, Tony, Jimmy and Clive, Draco, Zabini, Millie and Crabbe, and Severus Snape, who had fully recovered from his injury. Other attendees included the faculty of Hogwarts, various Ministry officials, several Aurors, including Kingsley Shaklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks.

So many people came up to Nigel to shake his hand, as well as Harry’s, get his autograph, be photographed with him, get a hug from him, whatever else. Girls offered their home addresses, and those with muggle telephones gave Nigel their numbers. Parents of little children wanted their toddlers and little ones to meet Nigel—he would squat down and shake their hand and wish them well. The typical response of the children was to hide behind their mothers and giggle. Nigel was also approached by many official-looking men and women with serious expressions and intense eyes, wanting to discuss politics and diplomacy and policy issues. Hearing the rumours of his coming to work with the Minister of Magic, they all wanted a chance to get Nigel’s attention, bend his ear a bit, let their concerns be known to the young wizard.

When the time came for the actual ceremony, Nigel suddenly got that sickening feeling of butterflies in his stomach as he made his way with Harry, Hermione, Ron, Draco, McGonagall, Lupin, Shaklebolt, Tonks and Snape up to the stage at the centre of the huge arena. The crowd let out a deafening roar as they took their places—Nigel and Tonks were the only ones who waved to the cheering crowd.

Then the speeches began, the many, many speeches. The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, then head of the Auror Office, who gave a special tribute to Kingsley Shaklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks, someone from the Wizengamot, who exonerated Snape and Draco of their past crimes in light of their current service and sacrifices—Nigel clapped vigourously for them—next, Arthur Weasley made a speech on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix, and then, Professor McGonagall spoke on behalf of Hogwarts, giving all five students on the stage an award for Special Services to the School. Finally, the Minister for Magic stood up to make his speech and bestow some honours of his own. To Ron, Hermione, Lupin, Tonks, McGonagall and Shaklebolt, he awarded Order of Merlin, Third Class.

“I am today,” Scrimgeour continued, “establishing a new Order, the Order of Albus. This is in memory of Albus Dumbldore, who always believed that even the greatest sinner deserves a second chance to make good and find redemption. This Order will honour those witches and wizards who have made the very courageous choice to renounce the Dark ways and embrace the side of good. This deserves attention and respect because for many reasons. Those who have made this move have given up nearly everything, from comfort, the companionship of their former comrades, their reputation and above all, their security. I have seen this bravery on the part of two wizards this past year, and therefore, Mr. Severus Snape and Mr. Draco Malfoy will be the first inducted into the Order of Albus, First Class.”

Nigel jumped to his feet and applauded. Harry followed suit, then McGonagall, Lupin, Hermione and Ron. Finally, the reluctant audience clapped lightly at first, then louder and louder. When Snape and Draco stood up to receive their award from the Minister, Nigel stepped forward to embrace them both. The crowd clapped louder still.

“I am also honouring Miss Millicent Bullstrode, Mr. Vincent Crabbe and Mr. Blaise Zabini with the Order of Albus, Second Class, for their efforts to bring down Lord Voldemort. And now,” Scrimgeour said, “I wish to honour Mr. Harry James Potter with Order of Merlin, First Class.” The crowd screamed with elation. “He has had the terrible burden of vanquishing Lord Voldemort since the age of eleven, and has carried this burden with great strength and grace. So much has already been said about Mr. Potter about his bravery, his consideration, and of course his great skill. He has made us proud for many years, and it is my great pleasure now to bestow this honour on him for doing the nearly impossible. Thank you, Harry.”

The crowd cheered and chanted Harry’s name over and over as Harry stood up to receive his award from the Minister and shake his hand. Everyone on stage stood and applauded wildly, including Severus Snape. Draco gave Hermione a spontaneous hug.

“I am told that Harry will go on to train as an Auror, which we still need,” Scrimgeour continued once the crowd had finally quieted down. “Just because Lord Voldemort is dead doesn’t mean that all dark wizards are now gone or in Azkaban, though many are.” The crowd clapped again. “Keeping this important fact in mind, the last award I shall bestow today is another Order of Merlin, First Class, to Mr. Nigel Chaucer.” Again, the crowd screamed and applauded and chanted Nigel’s name. “You undoubtedly have read in the Daily Prophet about Mr. Chaucer’s unique situation, something for which we still have no concrete answers.

“Mr. Chaucer has done what hasn’t been done in almost a thousand years, since the days of Salazar Slytherin. It is ironic that this sort of unity should come at the encouragement of a Slytherin, but then again, perhaps it is appropriate. This entire year, Mr. Chaucer has done all he could as Head Boy at Hogwarts to bring people together, to make friends out of former enemies, to inspire wizards tempted by darkness to reject it utterly. And while Mr. Chaucer’s power and magical skill are the most extraordinary that anyone has seen in centuries, this is not merely what brings him to the stage today. It would have been easy for him to exploit his own abilities, and knowing that he is more powerful than all the teachers combined, he could have used that to his own advantage. What is remarkable to me about Mr. Chaucer is that this never even crossed his mind. Rather, he has conducted himself with compassion, fairness, justice and strength. These qualities have benefited not only the school, but the world outside Hogwarts as well.” More applause, more cheering.

“This is why I have invited Mr. Chaucer to work at my side after he sits his exams, to continue the work of restoring order and peace to the wizarding world in the wake of Lord Voldemort’s death. And now, Nigel, it is time for you to come forward to receive your award.”

Nigel stood, his legs trembling a bit. As he walked across the stage toward the Minister, he looked out at the cheering, massive crowd shouting his name, waving, applauding, jumping up and down. It all seemed so unreal to him just then, and as he bent his head forward to receive the heavy gold medal from the hands of the Minister, Nigel thought about Lucy, about Jimmy and Clive, about how much he had changed in two short years, not even two years. He thought about his accident, about the pain he had endured in physical therapy, about the helplessness and fear he had felt in hospital, not knowing if he’d ever really be the same again. Nigel almost laughed at the irony—he never would be the same, after all, but not in the way he had originally thought.

Nigel shook hands with the Minister and headed back toward his seat. But then Snape stopped him and gave him a tight embrace.

“Still need tutoring for your exams?” he whispered.

Nigel laughed. “Shut up, sir.” Snape laughed, too. Nigel shook hands with Draco and Ron and Shaklebolt, and then Harry stood up and gave him a friendly embrace, as did Tonks and Lupin. McGonagall stood her ground, dabbing her eyes with a tartan-edged hanky.

“Well done, Chaucer,” she said through tears. “Well done, both of you.”

* * * * *

Before he returned to Hogwarts to finish out the year, Nigel made one last visit home to see his family and friends. At Nigel’s request, there was no special dinner or party or anything of the sort. All he wanted was to talk, especially about the future, about his future. His mother was none too pleased about the prospect of working with the Minister of Magic.

“You wanted to be a doctor, a Healer. You wanted to study at Standford, for goodness sake! This is hardly appropriate for you, Nigel,” she said. “You always hated politics.”

Nigel sighed. “I know, Mum, I know. I’m not thrilled about it, either but…”

“Well if you’re not thrilled about it, then don’t do it,” Lucy said.

“I know. I don’t have to, but he did make a good point. This is a delicate time for all of us in the wizarding community,” Nigel explained. “The work isn’t done.”

“This isn’t necessarily your fight to continue,” Mrs. Chaucer said. “You’ve done your bit, let someone else take part. You don’t have to save the whole world, honey.”

“I’m not trying to do that, Mum,” Nigel said. “This wasn’t what I planned, but I’m in it now. I don’t think it would be right for me to just wash my hands of it and say to everyone, ‘good luck’! There’s a lot I can do, especially as a Slytherin.”

“Why does that make a difference?” Mrs. Chaucer asked.

“Slytherins have a certain reputation,” Lucy explained. “Dark wizards tend to come from Slytherin, so someone from their own house can speak to them in a special way.”

“But you’re not a dark wizard,” Mrs. Chaucer said.

“Of course I’m not, Mum!”

Mrs. Chaucer sighed. “I just don’t want to see you getting hurt, that’s all.”

Nigel gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be careful, alright, Mum?”

To his amazement, his friends at Hogwarts were equally concerned. Hermione was entirely set against the whole arrangement, as was Harry. Only Zabini and Draco supported Nigel’s decision to work with the Minister.

“It would be a crime if you didn’t do this, Chaucer,” he said. The five of them walked down the corridor to the Great Hall for supper. Everyone who passed waved to Harry and Nigel. Girls threw them flirtatious looks and the little kids jumped up and down at the sight of them.

“He’s too young,” Hermione said. “Seventeen is the wrong age to start getting into politics! You’re better off in some low level office, just to learn the ins and outs of how the Ministry works.”

“And you know how the Ministry is,” Harry said ruefully. “They’re all about what they can get out of you before they don’t need you any more. Then you’re just tossed into the dustbin and forgotten!” They rounded a corner and passed a group of Sixth Year Hufflepuffs, all of whom waved cheerily at the group.

“Just because you had bad experiences with the Ministry doesn’t mean Nigel will,” Zabini pointed out. “And I agree with the Minister. Nigel is really the only one who can do this job. I mean, look at who he’s brought over. Me, Crabbe, Millie, Malfoy, loads of others.”

“Yeah,” Pansy Parkinson’s voice snapped behind them. “The filthy blood-traitors!” She approached, a snarl on her pretty face. Goyle and Nott flanked her, looking menacing, as usual. She looked Nigel in the eye and glowered. “If you think that everything here is going to be picture-perfect for you, now that you’re a conquering hero, you would be quite mistaken, Chaucer.”

Nigel raised his eyebrows. Draco made a move toward her, but Nigel stopped him. “Oh really, Pansy?” he said. “And tell me why that is so.”

She laughed. “Just watch your back.”

“Is that a threat?”

“You know my mind, I think.”

Nigel folded his arms in mock contemplation. “Hmm, threatening the Head Boy in front of the Head Girl, two prefects and a Quidditch Captain. Clever! What do you say, Granger? Fifty points?”

Hermione grinned. “Oh, at least.”

Harry and Zabini laughed. Pansy snarled.

“OK,” Nigel said. “Fifty points to Gryffindor.”

Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, trying to suppress a giggle. Harry and Zabini high-fived each other. Draco rolled his eyes with disgust at Pansy.

“You son of a bitch!” she shouted. “You can’t do that!”

“Ooo, using abusive language against the Head Boy,” Nigel said. “Um…twenty points to Hufflepuff.”

Word about the incident traveled around Hogwarts like wildfire, and by the time the four had arrived at the Potions classroom, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were running up to Nigel to thank him for the extra points.

“Don’t thank me,” Nigel said. “Thank Pansy Parkinson. She made it all possible!”

“Oi, Chaucer,” a Ravenclaw said, “why not induct Parkinson into the Esteemed Order of the Golden Tossers?”

Everyone laughed, including many of the Slytherins gathered in the corridor near the classroom. In the classroom, everyone took their seats and started preparing for the lesson. Draco partnered with Nigel, Hermione with Harry, Zabini with Ron. Rumour had it that they would finally learn how to brew Felix Felicis. Slughorn had promised the class six months ago that the time would come for them to learn the final brewing process for the tricky little potion.

“But Slughorn has the flu,” Ron said. “He’s been in the Hospital Wing for two days.”

“Oh well,” Nigel said. “Maybe next week.”

But it wouldn’t be next week. The classroom door opened, and to everyone’s amazement and alarm, in swept a majestic, striding Severus Snape, meticulously attired and polished and ready to take charge. Nigel beamed. After all, he had never seen his cousin in class with other students.

“Open your books to page six hundred and two,” he said curtly, tapping the chalkboard with his wand. “Felix Felicis” appeared on the board, with a set of instructions listed in his careful script underneath.

“If you please, sir,” Seamus Finnegan asked. “Where is Professor Slughorn?”

“Ill. The instructions…”

But Hannah Abbot interrupted. “Is he very ill?”

Snape glared at her. “Yes. Very ill. Anything else before we lose any more class time?”

“Welcome back, sir,” Hermione said.

Snape gave her a half nod. “Thank you, Miss Granger. This potion is incredibly difficult to brew, and so it is of utmost importance to read each and every word of the instructions before you begin. Is that clear, Mr. Potter?”

Harry cracked a half smile. “Yes, sir. Very clear.”

“Good. Let us hope that recent events have sharpened your ability to follow directions, then.”

“Absolutely, sir,” Harry said.

And so, the lesson began.


	23. Nigel's Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Minister for Magic has given Nigel an extraordinary opportunity...what will he do, now that the Dark Lord is dead and life has returned to normal? What does Nigel's future hold?

Draco was pitifully behind in his lessons, as was Harry. By the end of the Potions lesson, it became clear to both of them that they would need a lot of extra help to get up to N.E.W.T. standards. Nigel offered to help them, as did Hermione and Zabini. They were the only three who were able to do a fairly decent job at finishing the Felix Felicis. Nigel got the closest, though even his wasn’t perfect. Still, he managed to earn an E for the day, a rarity for Nigel. He felt the sting of disappointment as he packed up his supplies and got ready to go.

“Welcome to the human race, Chaucer,” Zabini said. “You’re still streets ahead of me in this stuff.”

Nigel nodded, trying to mask his frustration. Since when had be become such a perfectionist? OK, so he had always been a perfectionist, but it was only now that he allowed a minor failure get to him. Maybe it was all those days of adulation that had gone to his head a bit. Nigel didn’t want to think of himself as an egotist, but he wondered.

When Slughorn wasn’t back in class two days later, everyone began to worry a bit. The class continued their work on Felix Felicis, but stopped about fifteen minutes early. After they had all packed up their bags and cauldrons for the day, Snape quieted them all down so that he could make an announcement.

“Professor Slughorn will be back with you all next class,” he began. Some in the class groaned, though Snape’s fierce expression silenced them quickly. “I wish to end this lesson with some words of advice, as you will be sitting your exams in just a few short weeks. It has been my experience that, while the Potions books you study are very good, they occasionally fall short of perfection, as Mr. Potter discovered last year, did you not, Mr. Potter?”

Harry blanched. “Yes, sir,” he choked.

“And I fully expect that I shall receive back my copy of Advanced Potion Making upon your departure from this institution, shall I not?”

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

“As Mr. Potter discovered, there are many innovations beyond the instructions which the more astute Potions maker will adapt and use to his or her own benefit. Should you have need to avail yourselves of such innovations, I believe that Mr. Chaucer may be of some assistance to you.”

Seamus Finnegan raised his hand. “Sir? Will you be available the rest of this term? Can we come to you at some point for a bit more advice?”

The class murmured in assent.

“Surely,” Snape replied coolly, “Professor Slughorn will give you what you need. He is a fine Potions teacher.”

“You’re better!” Seamus said. The rest of the class again murmured in assent.

“That is enough, Mr. Finnegan,” Snape said dangerously. “Professor Slughorn is the one who taught me when I was at school.”

“Yeah, but you made all those changes!” Seamus said.

“This was not the fault of Professor Slughorn,” Snape said. “However, as it is so close to your exams, you might need a bit of extra help. I shall consult with a few people, and if I have their permission, I shall inform you of any prospective study sessions.”

Everyone applauded.

That night, Snape’s hut by the lake was so packed with Seventh Year students that some had to look on from outside, poking their heads in the open windows to hear what Snape had to say. He didn’t just talk about Potions, though most of the questions related to that. He also talked to them about Herbology, Charms, tips on wandless magic, and Transfiguration. Hermione asked him about Arithmancy. When Lavender Brown asked him for tips in Divinaiton, he replied, “My best piece of advice is to abandon the subject altogether. It’s a pure waste of time.”

But Lavender protested. “Professor Firenze is very knowledgeable and very wise.”

“He is also a centaur. His form of divination is unique to his culture. And besides,” Snape said, almost kindly, “why worry so much about the future when there is plenty to think about today?”

Lavender blushed.

Snape stood up to end the meeting. “Now then, if you all return next week, I can give you some insight into taking the test itself.”

They all promised to return, and after a few minutes of thank-yous and see-you-soons, the students, Hermione included, departed. Nigel stayed behind, picking up trash off the floor left by a Ravenclaw who went through seven chocolate frogs during the study session.

“Ravenclaws,” Nigel muttered.

“Don’t you have rounds tonight?” Snape asked, straightening the chairs around the small dining table.

“In an hour.” Nigel sat at the table. “Aren’t you going to pour me some mead?” he joked.

“You shouldn’t drink alcohol so late. It interrupts your sleep.” Snape pulled a tall glass out of the cupboard. “Aquamenti,” he said, pouring fresh water from the tip of his wand into the glass. Nigel drank. “So, you’re going to be a Ministry lackey, are you?”

Nigel rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

“You’re sure about this? I’d much rather see you as a Healer.”

“So would I. But the Minister made a good point about timing. The sooner we can deal with Voldemort’s supporters, the sooner I can quit the Ministry and become a Healer, right?”

“Touché,” Snape said, raising his sherry glass to Nigel.

“What are you going to do about your…well, that he’s your…”

“My father?” Snape sighed. “Honestly, I wish I hadn’t said anything about that. Now that he’s dead, of course, it’s really a moot point.”

“But do his other supporters know? Can anyone use it against you?”

“My guess is that the ones who know are currently rotting away in Azkaban.”

“I’ll keep your confidence about it, Severus. I swear.”

“I know you will. I trust you.”

“Is there an estate? An inheritance?” Nigel asked.

Snape grunted. “If there is, I don’t want it. It’s blood money. I’d rather cut off my hand than accept one Knut from him.”

“True.” Nigel reached into his robes and pulled out the old wand he had found last term. He held it up to Snape, who looked at it with great curiosity.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a wand.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “I know that, bugwit. Whose is it?”

“When we were looking for the last Horcrux, I found it in an old classroom. I never turned it in.”

Snape furrowed his brow. “Why not?”

“The last two spells cast with it were used to torture someone. A Gryffindor, I think. It could have been in that classroom for years. It was pretty dusty.”

Snape held out his hand. “I know what to do with this, then.” Taking the wand, he snapped it in half, and then in quarters. “If it was used to cause harm, then there is no use for it in this world today.”

“Did you recognise it at all?”

Snape shook his head. “It could have belonged to anyone, even to another Gryffindor. One thing you’ll need to learn as you enter the Ministry is that dark wizards come from many places, and from all houses. The man who betrayed Potter’s parents, in fact, was a Gryffindor.”

Nigel raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know that! Then why does Slytherin have such a bad reputation?”

“It is true that many dark wizards lived in Slytherin, including Lord Voldemort and the Malfoy clan and the Blacks. Then again, one’s goodness or wickedness is not always determined by family ties, either. Bellatrix Black-Lestrange’s cousin, Sirius Black, was not a dark wizard.”

“Wasn’t he the one who escaped?” Nigel asked.

“He was framed by a Gryffindor and spent many years in Azkaban for a crime he did not commit.”

“Did you know him? Were you friends with him?”

Snape snorted. “I knew him. But no, we were not friends. That was not entirely his fault, however. I was a very different person back in those days. I was very troubled and mixed up.”

Nigel grinned. “Not the pillar of stability you are today?”

Snape chucked a half-eaten biscuit at him. Nigel laughed.

“You can’t do that to me!” Nigel joked. “Doesn’t that constitute assaulting a government official?”

“Uh…NO! I think you have to pass your exams first!” Snape shot back. He chucked another biscuit at Nigel. Nigel tossed it back. Snape conjured bunny ears on the biscuit and flicked it back at Nigel. Nigel added dragon scales to the bunny ears and lobbed it back. Back and forth, back and forth…

“No fair!” Snape snapped. “You’re cheating! You can’t put teeth on it!”

“You made it breathe fire!” Nigel replied coolly. “I was defending myself!”

“Because you cocked up the very nice yellow ears I put on it!” With a flick of his wand, Snape put purple spangles over the claws Nigel had placed on the biscuit.

By the time they were finished, the once plain shortbread biscuit had flashing rainbow bunny ears, an elephant’s trunk, orange dragon scales and every three minutes, it would shoot out chocolate chips. Nigel took the thing with him back to the castle for the First Years to play with.

* * * * *

As the date of their N.E.W.T’s rapidly approached, all the Seventh Years, Nigel included, were in a near state of constant panic. Many, such as Hermione, stayed up all hours of the night revising and revising. Students frequently visited Snape in his hut to get more advice, but mostly, they would set themselves up in the Great Hall so that students from all houses could study together. The House Elves obliged them with pots of coffee, platters of biscuits and fruit and all sorts of other snacks to keep them awake. Nigel would occasionally entertain them with creative Transfiguration games, at one point turning Ron into a pink goat with blue horns. Horrified, Hermione quickly changed him back.

“Aw come on, Granger!” Draco said with a half sneer. “It was an improvement!” Ron gave him an offended look. “I’m just jerking your chain, Weasley,” Draco said. “You would have looked better in green!”

Everyone laughed, including Harry and Hermione. Ron blushed but forced an uncertain half smile.

With so much going on, Nigel nearly forgot the second anniversary of his accident. The morning of the anniversary, he awoke with a strange feeling, a flash of memory. At first, he wanted to minimize the importance of the date, considering that it was all in the past and that he had survived. On the other hand, as Draco reminded him that morning, it also marked the start of Nigel’s new identity as a wizard.

“This should be celebrated in the same way that Potter’s first defeat of Voldemort is,” Draco said. “I mean, if it weren’t for that accident, things might be very different around here.”

Nigel shrugged. “Just as long as we don’t do what we did last year.”

Draco laughed. “Oh yeah, you mean get drunk and sleep together by the lake?”

Nigel socked him in the arm. They laughed. “Yeah literally,” Nigel said. “We SLEPT, that’s all!”

Draco grinned wickedly. “That’s all you know, Chaucer.” But before Nigel could protest loudly and vociferously, Draco pinched his cheek hard and smacked him lightly on the back of the head. “I’m joking, Chaucer! You really do need to get a sense of humour.”

“So what are you doing after exams?” Hermione asked Draco as they all finished breakfast at the Hufflepuff table.

“I have some family business to take care of. Father and Mother were given life sentences, but Father also cut me off financially after I ran away. I’m petitioning the Wizengamot to override my father’s wishes and make me heir to the entire estate.”

“How much is it worth?” Harry asked.

“Over 300 million Galleons,” Draco said.

“Wow,” Ron said, blown away. “That’s a lot of money. I can’t even imagine that much money!”

“What’ll you do with it all?” Millie asked.

“I don’t know,” Draco said. “A lot of it is ill-gotten. Not all of it, but enough. I’d like to have a scholarship fund started for the school, named after my cousin, Sirius.”

“I like that,” Harry said quietly. “Sirius would have liked that, too.”

“What about the house?” Nigel asked. “Will you keep it?”

“Oh yeah, I’ll keep it. It’s been in the family for generations. It wouldn’t be right to sell it or knock it down. But I’d like to change the tenor of the place, make it something really nice, open. Most of the dark objects my father collected are gone, but I know of a few more well-hidden ones that the Ministry missed. I won’t feel quite right until they’re gone.”

Hermione smiled. “I think you’re doing a good thing,” she said.

Draco looked at her cautiously. “Don’t get the impression that I’ve suddenly gone soft, Granger,” he said. “I mean, I haven’t become some sort of monk or anything. I shall simply expand the sort of people I wish to party with, that’s all.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Oh, so am I now worthy of your drunken presence?” she asked waspishly.

Draco bowed his head to her. “I would be honoured to get you plastered off your bum, Miss Granger.”

Everyone laughed.

“So you’ll still be a right bastard, only without the prejudice,” Harry declared.

“Exactly, Potter,” Draco said.

Nigel shrugged. “Well, I guess you have to start somewhere.”

“We can’t all be perfect like you, Chaucer,” Draco said. “Potter here will have to give us all lessons.”

“We should all do something after exams are over, after we’re out of Hogwarts,” Nigel said.

The thought made Neville a bit downcast. “I don’t want to leave,” he said.

“I don’t, either,” Hannah Abbot said. “But I’m going into the Ministry afterward.”

“Becoming responsible like the rest of us,” Harry said. “What department?”

“Healer training,” she said.

Nigel sighed wistfully. “I’m jealous. That’s what I wanted.”

“You get to be practically the Minister for Magic!” Seamus said. “That’s pretty sweet!”

“It’s just temporary,” Nigel insisted. He hoped it was just temporary.

“Yeah,” Harry said, “twenty years is just temporary!”

“It won’t be that long!” Nigel said, a little too desperately.

“There are a lot of Voldemort supporters out there,” Zabini said. “You’re going to have your hands full, Chaucer.”

“That’s why we should all do something really great after exams,” Nigel said. “Because we’re all going to get really busy starting our lives. A lot of us might never see each other for a long while!”

Hermione gave Nigel a little hug and kissed him on the cheek. “You’ll be seeing me, though,” she said. “I’ll be in the Ministry, too. Muggle Relations.”

“I’m going into the Magical Reversal department,” Zabini said. “I’ll get to travel.”

“We should have a big party!” Nigel proposed. “We could maybe rent out the Leaky Cauldron, maybe we could all go in on it, so that the muggles in our families can attend, too!”

Everyone murmured in excited agreement.

“I like that, Nigel!” Harry said approvingly.

“But you don’t need to rent out the Leaky Cauldron,” Draco said. “Why not just come over to my place? To Malfoy Manor? It’s a hell of a lot bigger and I can arrange for some really great food.” He nodded congenially to Hermione. “I could even HIRE some of the Hogwarts House Elves to prepare the food for us.”

Hermione laughed. “At a salary?”

“Are you mad, Malfoy?” Ron said, laughing, too.

“Probably. After all, look at my parents! So just grab the muggles and make your way over! We’ve never had a muggle in our house before. Except Chaucer’s father, of course.”

At long last, after a few more weeks of anxiety and nervous breakdowns and moments of brilliance, the week of their N.E.W.T’s arrived. Even Nigel was nervous. Hermione was so panicky by then that most people had separated themselves from her entirely, not wanting her nerves to rub off on them. Harry had mostly caught up, as had Draco, but neither felt totally prepared for the exams. As they watched the examiners enter the castle that late afternoon before dinner, Nigel thought he could actually hear Hermione’s teeth chattering.

Students sat anywhere they wanted in the Great Hall. By then, the concept of House Tables was reserved for special occasions or assemblies. But at regular mealtimes, students sat with friends, regardless of house. Thus, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Harry frequently found themselves at the Slytherin table for meals. But that night, no one much felt like talking. Hermione’s eyes were red from too little sleep and more than a few anxious tears shed. Nigel had little appetite at all, whereas Ron couldn’t stop eating. Harry did all he could to keep his spirits up, and ended up into debate after debate with Draco on the most moronic topics they could imagine—which House Elf was shortest, which was better: Treacle Tart or Spotted Dick, whose penmanship was more legible. They argued as if these topics determined the fate of the wizarding world. They needed the energy of their old antipathy, even if they had to fake it now. But it kept their wits in check and kept everyone around them laughing.

“That is the WORST penmanship I’ve ever seen!” Harry snapped at Draco as they sat at the Hufflepuff table the morning of their first exams. “How did you study your notes with those chicken scratches?”

“At least I know how to write a declarative sentence, Potter,” Draco retorted. “You’re lucky to grunt out a single syllable.”

“Will you two stop?” Hermione hissed at them hysterically from the Ravenclaw table. “I’m trying to focus!”

Harry and Draco sat next to her on either side. “Oh come on, Hermione,” Harry said, “you’ll be fine!”

“Precisely,” Draco quipped. “In fact, Granger, I’m planning on sitting next to you so I can cheat off you. Chaucer’s going to use Legilimency on you, so don’t block your thoughts, OK?”

He and Harry laughed. Hermione did not. Nigel and Zabini joined them, armed only with quills and ink. No books or notes.

“I have a confession to make,” Draco announced to the group.

“You’re a woman?” Zabini asked. Everyone laughed, except an increasingly annoyed Hermione.

“I think I really did reform,” Draco said morosely. “I resisted a terrible temptation this morning, and I’m very proud of myself.”

“What temptation, Malfoy?” Harry asked. “Doing an engorgement charm on Flitwick?”

“Worse. I saw Pansy on my way down to breakfast, and I nearly did a memory charm on her so she’d fail all her exams.”

Nigel laughed. “That’s pretty bad, Draco.”

“No shit!” Draco said. “It was torture!”

Harry chuckled. “You made the right choice, Malfoy. Let her fail her exams on her own!”

The exams were harder than anyone had anticipated. All of Snape’s advice came back to them, but most of them still felt fairly overwhelmed. By the end of the first day, Hermione’s hands were shaking so much her penmanship was starting to wobble. Harry felt like crying after his afternoon exam, and Nigel just stared ahead blankly, not wanting to say a word to anyone. These were far more challenging than exams at his muggle school. His GCSE’s seemed like child’s play by comparison.

No one slept much that night.

The next day, Nigel and the others had to demonstrate wandless magic for part of their Charms exam. Nigel watched as Hermione did the slow motion banishing charm he had taught her, and as Draco made a bowl of popcorn dance to a tune he whistled. Snape must have taught him that one. Then it was Nigel’s turn. His examiner was a square-faced wizard called Brock Werk. He had a fussy little bowtie and thick, blue-rimmed spectacles. Werk gave Nigel no look of recognition, in spite of the fact that Nigel’s photo had been in every single issue of the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly since the ceremony marking Lord Voldemort’s death.

“Mr. Nigel Chaucer?” he asked. There was an imperious sneer in his voice.

“Sir,” he replied. “What would you like me to do?”

Werk pointed to a thick, stone, half-pillar to Nigel’s right. It looked very solid, very heavy.

“You will move that stone exactly five inches toward this table.” With a flick of his wand, he drew an X on the floor where he wanted the stone to end up.

“May I touch it first, sir?” Nigel asked. Werk nodded his head. The stone felt cold, smooth, impossibly heavy. But the weight didn’t matter. It wasn’t about using muscle, Nigel thought. It was all about focus, channeling his power toward lifting that stone. He stepped back to the table.

Facing the stone, Nigel pointed a finger at the stone, palm up, and waggled his finger upward three times. The stone jumped into the air obediently. Then, Nigel waved his finger toward himself, summoning the stone. The stone followed, light as air, landing directly over the X on the floor. Nigel turned back toward Werk and waited for further instructions.

“Very good,” Werk said coolly. He raised his eyebrows. “Can you turn it into rubber?”

“That’s Transfiguration, sir,” Nigel said. “But yes. I think so. Shall it be the same colour, or would you prefer something more interesting?”

Werk sat back and folded his arms. “Surprise me.”

Nigel thought for a moment. He spread out his hands wide and jerked them forward quickly, fluttering his fingers a bit. The stone turned a sort of psychedelic rainbow pattern and bobbed up and down like a rubber ball.

The nearby examiners and students clapped. Nigel was dismissed. His Potions exam was harder than he thought it would be. The thought of being somewhat of a Potions prodigy had gone to his head just a bit. The first essay was fairly easy for Nigel—how to brew a curative potion for the relief of chronic pain. But the second essay was more challenging—how to repair a botched up potion so that it goes from being a poison to one that will enhance the memory of the drinker. Nigel hadn’t brewed such a potion, nor had he been shown any like that in Slughorn’s class. He had, however, repaired a potion of Harry’s back in September, so Nigel could only use that experience as a model. In the end, he took the entire time writing his essays, and by the time he had finished, he felt fairly confident.

Nigel’s hardest exam by far would be Astronomy—it wasn’t a subject he took to easily, and Nigel easily got confused by so many stars up in the sky all at once. He felt as if he sort of fudged his way through the essays, and that night, when they had to prepare an advanced chart, all Nigel could do was pray that his telescope in the proper direction. He tried to copy what the other students did, and wrote down what he thought he saw, never really feeling confident that he had done it well.

All he could do now was wait. It was all any of them could do.

* * * * *

The party at Malfoy Manor was the best of Nigel’s memory. His entire family had come—his parents, Tony, Aunt Susan, Uncle Kit, Jimmy, Clive, Lucy and her family, including her witch aunt. Teachers were also invited, and some came: McGonagall, Lupin, Flitwick, Madame Pomfrey, Madame Hooch, even Hagrid. And of course, Severus Snape came. Most of the Seventh Years attended the party, along with many parents, some of whom were muggle or half-blooded or muggle-born. Draco had the entire, massive house decorated with all the Hogwarts colours. Through some connections of Blaise Zabini’s, he was able to get the Weird Sisters to perform at the party, to everyone’s delight.

As the party raged on, Nigel walked outside into the fresh June air. He breathed deeply, feeling the energy of his surroundings fill his body with all its subtle nuances. It was a moment of reflection for Nigel, a brief moment of self-evaluation, of taking stock of who he was and how much he had truly changed. It was inconceivable even a year ago that he would have considered a post in the Ministry of Magic. It still sounded strange to Nigel, as if a fantasy or science fiction novel had come to life. 

What was he two short years ago? A typical boy, a college kid dreaming of Cambridge, of America, of power and prestige as a surgeon or an oncologist or something. He had wanted so many things, to have an easy life married to Lucy, with three kids and a home in Belgravia, a country home in Gloucestershire. He had wanted a BMW, a yacht, all the trappings of muggle success. But he wanted morality, too. Religion. Purity. Nigel laughed at himself, at his ideals. If he had ever thought in a thousand years that he would work in the Ministry of Magic fighting against the stubborn disciples of the Dark Lord to preserve the stability and peace of the wizarding world, he would have thought himself insane. But now, when it all was so real, all Nigel could do was bow his head and accept the burden of leadership placed on his shoulders.

After a while, Lucy joined him outside. She slipped her arm around his waist and kissed him softly on the lips. This was real, this moment, this intimacy. As for tomorrow? Only the morning sunlight really knew. Everything else rested in mystery.

 

**_The End_ **

* Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think of Nigel's story so far! I hope you read the next installment, "The Ministry Official."


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